Recidivism
by swamud3a
Summary: The dissolution of a couple. Warning: m/m, Oliver/Christian, Oliver/other, slash, Dubious Consent, Violence, Drug Use mild . Long WIP.
1. The pick up

AN: Obviously building this backward and this happens before the events in the last chap.

* * *

"Christian, just say the word, and I'll stay."

Olli waited expectantly. He watched Christian slowly and methodically peeling the potatoes and idly wondered where he'd have to take cover when Christian's ever simmering jealousy caused him to fling the produce at his face.

"No Olli, it's fine." Christian said, biting his lower lip, anxiety rolling off him in waves, "Just be careful?"

No throwing, instead he took off his apron, dusted his hands and walked over to Olli, his face scrunched in thought. It was a look that to Olli was incredibly precious, but he wouldn't dare tell him that. He graciously allowed his musical-loving, pony-book reading boyfriend, his manly dignity.

"For the last time, Christian, Rob isn't some underground criminal mastermind, it's strictly business, I promise. I can't pass up this opportunity."

He watched the blonde brows furrow further, and Christian ruffled his unruly hair sighing heavily.

"I know all that Olli, believe me. It's just, I really really don't trust the guy. There's something off about him. I won't deny that between the two of you No Limits is doing unbelievably well. But I can't shake this feeling. I trust my gut, and my gut tells me he's no good."

"Well, maybe you should stop eating that canned pesto." Olli quipped, stepping in lightly to pull his sullen boyfriend into his arms. "Then you could stop hallucinating about talking body parts."

"Ho ho ho, Olli, but I'm being serious. Be careful, please? For me?"

Ah, that little thread of uncertainty in Christian's voice was a drug to Olli. Empirical proof that in some things, at least, Christian needed him as much as he needed Christian. It was that voice, among other things, that made him rest his head in the space between Christian's neck and shoulder at night. It made him wrap Christian tight in his arms and count the slow even way his chest rose and fell in sleep, while Olli fought to contain the almost fearsome amount of joy he felt. Sometimes he was sometimes a little frightened of the fact someone had so easily wrapped him around their little finger, it was usually the other way around

"Of course," he said smoothly, "anything for you, anything. Besides, how can I resist you when you make that face?"

Olli watched his expression thaw and melt into mischief, relieved that the beast of Christian's jealousy was at least momentarily appeased.

"Just try," Christian said with a rakish waggle of his eyebrows

Moving closer, he sighed as Christian linked his hands together behind him, running his fingers through Olli's newly shorn locks.

"Nope, impossible." He said, and moved to kiss the one upturned corner of Christian's mouth, then the other, deciding it would be rude to leave it unattended.

" By the way, have I ever told you you're cute when you're nervous?"

"No, but it doesn't matter, you always think I'm cute." Christian whispered, brushing his lips softly against Olli's, before catching him off guard with a teasing bite. That was all it took to send a little frisson of heat coursing throughout. He assented softly with a "hmmm" before pushing Christian back against the door and kissing him properly. The combination of the sweet softness of Christian's tongue, and the hard heat of Christian against his thigh was making him breathe just a little unevenly.

"By the way, have I ever told you that you're so easy?" Christian, chuckled as he ran a possessive hand down Olli's back, his hand burning through the denim as he kneaded his ass.

Olli didn't even try to answer, he'd heard it a million times and had to admit, he probably was a little easy. It was hard not to be when his boyfriend was pulling him closer to nip and taste the skin of his neck, and when the languid flicks of his delightful tongue were reducing him to soft sighs.

"Christian, you're going to leave a mark." he mumbled softly, sliding his fingers under the t-shirt across taut muscled skin and up to slide his thumb over one nipple. That earned him a tiny grunt, and judging by how Christian's eyes wouldn't stay open, it looked like he wasn't the only easy one.

"How much time do we have?" Christian asked, low and husky in a tone of voice that Olli knew well, a tone he would not bother resisting.

He grunted softly, carding his fingers through Christian's silky hair and pressing forward to cause more stimulating friction against his front When Christian attacked his neck and left the much –feared mark, Olli's only protest was to clutch the man tighter to him and throw his head back, panting with the sensation.

"Christian" he sighed "Let me, let me-"

Olli wasn't sure what he was trying to ask, he was too distracted by Christian's steady stuttering hips and the hand that had somehow managed to insinuate itself between Olli's ass and underwear.

"What? What do you want Olli?" Christian had the aggravating ability to maintain some semblance of his control. Fortunately, Olli had one surefire counter to that.

"Let me suck you." He whispered, triumphant at the irrepressible shiver he felt underneath his hands.

"Yeah, ok, yes." And Olli heard the subtle change in Christian's voice, the mellow tenor turning raspy as he stroked the side of Olli's cheek, watching in rapt fascination as Olli lowered himself to his knees.

Olli knew he'd never get tired of the awe in Christian's face whenever he did this, the slight trace of vulnerability overlaid with want overlaid with love. Christian never looked away, even as he grew larger thrusting with nearly reckless abandon, Olli's name a litany issuing forth from his flushed lips. Christian never looked away until he threw his head back shouting. He kept eye contact until the spasms from his orgasm wracked his body, enervating him even after Olli had swallowed everything and had flowed back up to kiss him with soft hot lips that tasted-

A sudden knock on the door drew their attention and Olli felt Christian tense as their ears were assaulted with heavy accented English.

"Hey Ol? You home? I waited for you downstairs but Miri said you were probably still up here. How about opening up for Ol' Rob?"

"Yeah, just, just hold on!" Olli called, his voice still hoarse from Christian.

Christian's strength seem to flow back, if the vehemence with which he tucked himself in and stalked to the door was any indication. Olli met his eyes and his own widened as Christian looked pointedly at his crotch. He was still hard as a rock, no way Rob wouldn't see it.

"Olli," Christian said quietly as he walked to the door "Be _careful_ tonight, ok? "

Olli nodded, trying to think of anything that would calm him down and settled on an image of Charlie and Justus in flagrante delicto. It worked a little bit.

"Hey Chris! What's up!" Rob said, blessedly in German, clapping a hand on Christian's shoulder. Christian brushed out of the man's grip, and stood at the door, refusing to let him in.

"Hey Robbie" Christian smiled through tight white teeth that did nothing to conceal his barely repressed malice. "Olli will be out in a minute." He shut the door rudely in Rob's face and walked back to Olli.

"Christian you didn't have to be-" Christian's rudeness knew no bounds evidently because he silenced Olli with a bruising kiss before resting his forehead against Olli's.

"Come home soon." He said, raggedly, touching his lips to the burgeoning bruise on Olli's neck.

"I will, I will" Olli said, "but you're not helping the situation you know!"

"I'm sorry" Christian responded with a tone of smug superiority. Olli rolled his eyes, he really would have to take his boyfriend down a peg or two, his hubris was getting out of hand now.

Olli was heading over to the apartment door when a soft "Olli?" stopped him in his tracks.

He turned and watched Christian shuffling his feet, head bowed until a timid "Love you." came out. Olli sometimes forgot, just how much of Christian's swagger was bravado. In reality, Christian was in constant need of reassurance, and he thrived on Olli's attention, craved it like a drug. One which Olli was only to happy to provide. After all, it was nice to be needed, and at any rate, the feeling was more than mutual.

He walked over smiling, pulling Christian to him, and pulling his head down to it's favorite crook in the juncture of Olli's shoulder and neck.

"Love you, more, Chrissie." He pulled back to look Christian in his eyes and shook a mocking finger at him "But that doesn't mean you can get away with doing this to me!" He said, pointing at his still hard dick. Christian laughed and hugged Olli tighter before turning him around to face the door.

"Never again, versprechen."

"Yeah, where have I heard that before?" Olli winked over his shoulder as he opened the door to Robert.

"C'mon Ol, let's go my contact is going to be leaving in half an hour. Tschüss Chris!"

Olli thought it would be best not to get a look at the death glare he was positive Rob was receiving from Christian, and closed the door behind him.

He was a little taken aback to se that Rob hadn't moved from his spot, but was instead standing in Olli's space, his eyes appraising and warm.

"Looks like I interrupted some fun between you and your man?" He said quietly, as his eyes flitted to the mark on Olli's neck, then down further and further. Olli felt himself burning under the blatant scrutiny. Rob didn't wait for an answer, instead he moved a little closer, removed a small square napkin from his jacket pocket and held it in front of Olli. Still looking down he said softly, "You have dust on your knees, you'll want to take care of that I think."

Olli flushed a deeper crimson as he grabbed the cloth and took care of his pants. He handed it back to Rob, swallowing loudly and asked, "Better?"

"Much," Rob said quietly, his fingers grazing Olli's as he took back the napkin. "And if you need help with anything else, please let me know, his gaze resting squarely on the noticeable tent in Olli's slacks. Olli watched him stride away confidently, tucking the napkin back into his front pocket, and briefly wondered if he should just play sick turn around and go back to Christian.

"C'mon Ol, time is wasting."

He shook himself mentally and shifted tried to relieve some of the aching pressure in his groin before following Rob down the stairs and out of the flat –share. He could handle this. He'd be fine.


	2. The Score

The Score.

* * *

The cab ride was rapidly to curing Oliver of his condition. He was literally one inappropriate comment or one much-too-intentional-to-be-accidental leg brush away from seriously tearing Rob a new one. But Olli didn't bother, he knew men like Rob. He wouldn't listen anyway, and he'd probably think a threat of violence was a come on. Coarse, crass, blustery and confident beyond reason, if Olli was honest with himself he'd had his fill of that type, the Russian cop being the straw that broke the Sabel's back. Sascha had been fun, a wonderful diversion at the time, but Olli had to wonder what did people take him for, when the man thought it would be ok to approach Olli with a plastic bag, cuffs, a rope and a too bright gleam in his eye. Olli had politely declined and returned to Dusseldorf the same week, feeling that his cruise ship odyssey was finally at an end. When it came to men like this, it was usually best to cut losses and run. Unless, like Rob, they held the key to a little thing known as your future.

He felt Rob's calf against his, again, and whirled to glare openly at him, reaching into his pocket at the same time to have Euros ready when he asked the cab to stop. He'd had enough of this shit.

"You know what, Robert?-" Olli started huffing angrily but before he could muster the steam to continue he watched Rob dissolve into a fit of hysterical laughter. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he asked, trying to get some kind of a read on the psycho next to him.

"You, man, you get so worked up Olli, I touch your leg a couple of times and you're ready to just fly out of the cab? Cool down baby. "

"You asked me how big Christian was?!" Olli reminded him softly, somehow still amazed by his total lack of shame. He hated the little squeak that crept into his voice but was too livid to feel embarrassed."Furthermore, you totally disregard my relationship with him, and I'm getting a little tired of the put downs, Rob. He's my boyfriend, you told me you respected that."

Rob's smile faded quickly and he turned to look out of he passenger window, as he slowly twisted his ring around and around on his finger, an anxious habit of his, Olli knew.

It was uncomfortable, now, in the silence of the cab. He looked at the lights streaking by, then finally back at Rob. Something, serious and unbending in Rob's gaze temporarily divested Olli of his ire. That, and Rob had moved closer, sliding across the cramped compartment into Olli's space, his arm and torso a makeshift prison, and his thigh flush against Olli's.

"Oh, Olli." He said, his voice suddenly tired and depleted. "I respect it, more than you can know. But just because I respect it, it doesn't mean I have to like it. Olli found himself pressed against the opposite door, doing his level best to look at anything but the blue-grey eyes in front of him. "And just because I respect it," Rob inched closer, his attention focused again on the light purpling bruise on Olli's neck. "It doesn't mean I can keep myself from feeling jealous."

He said this so soft and low that the feather light touch of Rob's finger along his collar, was like a gun-shot of sensation along his skin. Olli's breath hissed from between his teeth, he hadn't even realized he'd been holding it, and he was blushing furiously at Rob's forwardness, at the incinerating heat between them. He moved Rob's hand away from his shirt and pushed him back firmly.

"O.K. But you can keep yourself from acting like an ass." Olli said sharply, turning toward the window and counting the streetlights to get his breathing under control. He was sure it was fury that was making him this short of breath, but a tell-tale heaviness in his cock seemed to have an alternate theory.

"You're right, God you're right, I'm sorry. We can't always get what we want. Or who."

Olli turned at the tortured whisper, seeing that Rob was safely on the other side of the seat, his head cradled in his hands."I just-" Rob shot up straight again, distracted fingers racing through his hair. "I just need to get over it, right?" He smiled, an odd cracked thing, and held his hand out to Olli. "Business first? Partner?"

Olli bit his lip warily, but met the extended hand.

" Business first." He agreed.

"Thank you Olli, I'm glad you can be so professional about this. And I promise, no more cracks about Chris."

"Christian" Olli corrected softly.

But Rob didn't hear. He had relaxed back into the seat, pillowing his head on his hands, legs outstretched, exuding the confidence Olli had become accustomed to all these months.

"Besides, it's better to keep business and the private matters separate, don't you think?"

And Olli did think, he knew first hand, thanks to Christian, that it would just never work, but he couldn't suppress a laugh at hearing his own words unwittingly repeated back to him.

"What's so funny?"

"It's nothing, Rob. Anyway I think we're here?"

Rob looked at his watch and urgently ushered Olli out of the cab.

"Yeah this is great, we still have time."

Olli was loathe to admit it, but going out with Rob like this was definitely something he could appreciate, on a aesthetic level. Rob was a consummate connoisseur, and had quickly turned Olli on to the best wines, the best clubs, the best of everything, and Olli made sure he took the lessons he learned back to NoLimits, to implement them with spectacular results.

On a reconnaissance night like this, he and Rob would usually sit at the bar nursing a drink, just one, and discuss what worked, what didn't, and what ideas they'd be borrowing or outright stealing for the next event. So Olli was a little surprised to find himself ushered behind a VIP velvet rope and presented with two complementary glasses of sparkling wine.

"I didn't have time to tell you, because we're late, but this is going to be a bit more formal than what we usually do."

The music was loud and by necessity Rob was close again, and Olli had to close his eyes briefly and curse Christian for making him so susceptible to this when normally he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at the whispers against the sensitive skin of his ear, or at Rob's inhuman heat.

"I noticed," Olli said, indicating his glass, and grateful at the appearance of his outward calm.

"Olli," Rob's hand was hot on his, his gaze serious. "I've set up a meeting for us with a corporate event planner from Schleiser and Meyer."

"The advertising agency?"

"Yes exactly. Very good Olli, I see you've been reading the Financial Times, like I told you. Good."

Olli couldn't help it, the smile twisting his mouth up despite his efforts at suppression. He always smiled at Rob's praise, and Rob was always so unfailingly generous with it, and it kept Olli ever smiling.

"Marenbach you old bitch!"

Olli was startled to find a tall brunette standing in front of them, her hands resting defiantly on her hips.

"Well Olli, here comes trouble," Rob said standing smoothly, gracefully. "Also known as Lena Jacobs, also known as Regional Event Coordinator for Schleiser and Meyer"

"I call it S&M" She giggled, holding out a fine well manicured hand to Olli.

"Oliver Sabel," Olli introduced himself, and on a whim kissed her proffered hand.

"Oh, Bobby, this one _is_ cute. You know how to pick them."

"I'm even cuter up close, why don't you sit with us?" Olli winked, pulling her into the plush couch."

"Mr. Sabel," Lena purred, "I think I like you." She draped a leg over Olli's. "Now tell me why NoLimits should get our business, other than the fact that your Bobby's brand new boy toy."

He didn't bother to correct her, the task at hand was to convince her to use NoLimits, so Olli went to work, plying her with drinks, compliments and all the Sabel charm he had on reserve. He knew if he could net Lena's business, it would be one step closer to being out from under Charlie's thumb.

By the time he led Lena back to the VIP area from the dance floor, she'd made an appointment to sign contracts with Oliver the following Monday. Olli hoped, at least, that some of it was due to his ideas and not due to the fact that he'd let Lena liberally and drunkenly grope his ass while they'd danced. Though he made a mental note to do few extra minutes on the stair-master the next time he was at the gym. He also thought that if this is what Rob meant when he'd said "formal" he was going to have to get the guy a dictionary.

"Oh God Rob, this one's fun! Hang on to him darling, he's actually got brains too. I like, I like."

"Me too." Rob said quietly, fingering the material of Olli's jacket.

"Stop" Olli told him warningly.

"Shots!" Lena shouted, handing both men glasses of tequila with lime. "Now Olli, as the newbie, and to cement our burgeoning partnership I'm requiring you to do a body shot." she explained as she methodically sprinkled salt on her forearm.

Olli looked at the pale underside of her arm, then at her cocky smirk and raised eyebrows and realized two things.

One: Lena wasn't nearly as drunk as he'd thought, and

Two: she was challenging him.

As far as she was concerned this was the real signing of the contract, and there was no way Oliver was going to back down from her.

He pulled out his best come hither look and stalked over to Lena, prepared to do his very worst and show the woman he could swim with the sharks.

"Oh silly boy, not me, though I appreciate the offer." She licked the salt off her forearm, and took the shot, then smiled at Olli with the lime rind in her teeth and pointed at Rob. "He's got to do it. You guys are hot. Entertain me."

Olli had a fleeting thought about the nature of absolute power, but it was hard to complete it with Rob staring darkly at him in the recesses of the booth, holding out a shot and lime wedge. After about half an eternity, Olli choked out his answer.

"How can we say no to you Lena, darling, it'd be bad for business." He was rewarded with her Cheshire cat grin. "The boy has entrepreneurial spirit Bobby. Take the shot of his chest." She commanded imperially before shoving the lime wedge into Olli's mouth and pushing him roughly onto the couch.

Olli found himself looking up at Rob, who'd wasted no time in straddling him. He tried to keep his breathing even as Rob unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, but the combination of the heat of his body on Olli's thighs, and the unadulterated lust he was projecting was difficult to deal with, Far more difficult than it should've been. He wanted to blame Christian again for shoving him out of the door horny, but it didn't quite sit right with him. It was beyond that now. Olli closed his eyes, trying to dampen the sensation, but Rob shifted against him, hot and hard against his thigh. He screwed his eyes tighter as the salt hit his naked chest, and though Olli couldn't see it, he could feel Rob shifting closer and he couldn't stop the traitorous gasp that escaped his lips, when Rob's tongue traced a slow meandering moist path up the center of his chest, almost but not quite reaching his neck, and pausing to suck softly at the open skin there. Olli didn't like that, but his groin did canting upward to press more fully into the heat above. He choked back a whimper and opened his eyes in time to see Rob take the shot. He sat paralyzed, dumbfounded as he watched the reddish blonde descend on him, slowly, to delicately pluck the lime from between his lips. The jolt of Rob's tongue, languorous and wet against his bottom lip, finally snapped Olli out of it, and he gently but firmly dislodged Rob from his lap.

"Lena, I'll see you Monday? We'll conference with my attorney, Lars?" Oliver stood up quickly moving out of the booth.

"Oh yes, you rascal. Bright and early Monday."

"Great, see you then, bye."

"Tschüss! love!" Lena called over her shoulder, her attention shifted to a young redheaded waitress, who looked about as frightened as Olli felt.

"I'll walk you out." Rob said.

He only nodded briefly in response, and left Rob to trail behind him as he made his way to the door. Olli kept his composure enough not to run out of the club. He ignored his shaking hands as he buttoned his shirt back up, he could even ignore how short of breath he was. But he couldn't ignore the light pinwheel whir of feeling in the back of his throat, the slight stricture of his muscles, and the dull throbbing ache blooming at his center. Olli recognized it well.

Want.

Want for this man beside him, and he had to do his damnedest to ignore it, because – just because. He hailed a cab before turning around to shake Rob's hand and bid him goodbye.

"Olli, about before, no harm no foul, it didn't mean anything right?"

"Right." Olli said, but he was hardly listening. All he really wanted was for Rob to let his hand go, now. He couldn't process this couldn't deal.

Rob moved in closer, and Olli really was one hummingbird wing - beat away from fleeing.

"I'm just glad I got to wash his taste out of your beautiful mouth."

Olli pulled his hand free and jumped in the cab, he didn't bother to say goodbye. As he mumbled the address to the driver he could make out Rob in the rearview mirror still standing on the curb watching the cab speed into the night.

"Ok," Olli mumbled to himself, drawing a still shaky hand through his hair, "Ok, it was nothing, I just have to avoid situations like that from now on."

Yet, even as he paid the cab and trudged up to his apartment, even as he stepped into the hot steam of his shower, he could still feel the grit of the salt, and phantom swipes of Rob's tongue, and he couldn't stop thinking about kissing the man with Christian's taste still on his mouth. He didn't try anymore to stop his hand from moving rapidly over his rock hard dick, grunting softly against his arm as he bathed the tiles with his cum.

He'd almost collapsed with how good it felt, how good it could feel if maybe, just maybe he could have both.

* * *

AN: Oh Robert Marenbach...you naughty devil. I love you so!


	3. Conviction

**Conviction**

* * *

Olli woke up the next morning with his legs tangled in Christian's, his breathing labored, his skin sweaty and his erection diamond hard and hurting as he moaned into Christian's neck, curling himself around the welcoming body heat beside him to try and get some relief. He'd been dreaming about Christian and about himself and Robert, the three of them, and it had been so good, too good, but he'd woken up at just the wrong time, ready and needy.

"Christian?" He gasped out, hoping to God that he was at least partially awake. The only response he got was a muffled snort as Christian, ostrich-like in his determination, buried his head further into his pillow. The slight movement only brought his naked backside further into contact with Olli's aching prick and he grunted at the sensation, planting his hand on the smooth hip to keep Christian in place as he rubbed against the sweet cleft of his ass.

"So you're awake then? How about Little Christian?" Olli asked, slipping his hand around Christian's waist to feel the tight skin of his abs, skimming lower and lower.

"Olli, it's six in the morning, give a guy a break." Christian whined. His tone was grumpy, as usual, but Olli had long ago learned to look past Christian's words. It was a little difficult to take him at face value since Christian said what he meant only about sixty percent of the time, and knew how he felt even less. His objection this morning was a perfect example because, even while griping about the time of day, he was arching into Olli's touch, and pushing back to rub himself sinuously against the unyielding flesh, unsuccessfully suppressing his little sighs as Olli fondled his cock possessively.

"C'mon baby." Olli whispered, moving a hand up to lightly flick a nipple then trailing it down his nearly hairless chest, the same trail that Robert- Olli stopped himself and focused on Christian, lamenting his inability to control his thoughts in sleep or wakefulness. He'd fallen into bed last night, exhausted, confused, turned on, and angry at himself for being so weak. He had been hoping for the oblivion of sleep but had only fallen further into a labyrinth of desire.

"I need it, Christian, turn over for me." He bit down on hard Christian's shoulder, smiling at the little shiver it produced. Olli hitched his leg around Christian to pull him closer, locking his arm around the torso and nibbling and licking the thin skin of his neck, making Christian whimper audibly.

"Olli…" His voice was breathy, quiet, and Olli knew it wouldn't be much longer.

"Get the lube, Schatz, hurry." Olli was rutting almost mindlessly against him now, and hoping that Christian wouldn't catch the way his hand gripped a little to hard, too demanding and different from the usual lassitude of their early morning fucks. Christian just reached out wordlessly for the bottle and handed it to Olli before turning over onto his stomach and raising his hips into the air. It was a sight that never failed to bowl Olli over with disbelief and desire, how sweetly Christian could acquiesce, his face some strange erotic mix of innocence and lust as he wriggled his hips invitingly, waiting for Olli to fuck him into the mattress.

"Yes baby that's it, oh God, so hot, love you so much," Olli rasped as his fingers circled then slipped into Christian's tight pucker, his other hand unsteady as he rolled the condom on his weeping erection. Christian had quit playing at drowsiness and was pushing back into Olli's fingers, nearly shredding the sheets as he gripped them. "So beautiful. All mine. Need you. Need you." He mumbled brokenly, raining chaste kisses up Christian's back.

"Olli! Fuck the poetry and fuck_ me!" _ Christian growled, clenching tight around Olli's hand.

Cursing, Olli bit his lip at the feeling, pulled his fingers out and entered Christian slowly, letting the fluttering contractions pull him in and moaning at the velvet feeling of Christian's ass tight around his dick. He pulled almost completely out and slammed back in, earning a shout from Christian. He wanted to hear that again, needed Christian to fill the cracked questioning part of him with his sounds, enough of them to blot out his dreams. But when he closed his eyes, snapping his hips to meet Christian's urgent request, he was assaulted by disjointed images from his sleep. Him laying prostrate at the old church altar in Meppen writhing in torrid ecstasy on the cool marble with Rob between his legs powerful and hot, thrusting mercilessly into his ass, even as he plundered Christian's mouth. Christian who had smiled evilly, grazing Olli's lips with the head of his cock keeping it just beyond the reach of Olli's questing tongue; until Rob's voice, low, raspy and dangerous in the hush of the sacristy, commanded Christian to gag him with it. And Oliver had never felt so full in his life, with Christian pulsing in his throat, holding his hands down while he watched Rob push into him over and over. It had been incredible, and wrong, and precisely everything Olli wanted.

He moaned in equal parts agony and ecstasy, dream sense and real sense converging at his core to increase the blood flow to his cock. Christian convulsed and shuddered underneath him, and when he heard the ragged keening shout of his name and felt Christian gripping him so tight in the midst of his climax, Olli's own orgasm hit him with the force of a freight train. He stilled, every muscle taut and straining, his lungs contracting in a silent scream as he waited for his seed to stop pulsing into Christian.

Olli collapsed, heavy and spent onto the body beneath him, his lungs struggling for air and his mind struggling for sense. Christian was still panting and trembling when he slipped from him, boneless, tired, and troubled. The ceiling tiles swam past his vision and he screwed his eyes tight against them. It had been good. Hell, It was always good. But it was just this side of not enough, and panic was creeping up Olli's chest to tighten around his throat and pull tears from his scratchy eyes.

He sniffed and smiled tightly when Christian finally shifted to kiss him softly on the lips and asked, "Is everything ok schatz? That was a little intense." Christian inched closer, laying his head on his chest. That he was big on cuddling, had taken Olli by pleasant surprise the first few times they'd made love. He'd never imagined that his stoic ,boxing, outdoorsman could have such reserves of affection and he gladly partook whenever it was offered, which was often. But at the moment, the silk of Christian's blonde hair beneath his fingers felt like a trap. He didn't feel the peace he usually did at the breath whistling across his chest and he had to work hard to control the nervous beating of his heart.

"Im fine, just tired. You're going to be late for work if you don't get going." Olli muttered distractedly. Christian watched him silently for a few seconds, leveling his most powerful diagnostic look, and real fear pounded in Olli's chest then because he had always been terrible at hiding anything from Christian, love or lies. He relaxed when his boyfriend kissed the skin over his heart and turned to leave the bed. "Yeah, I'm really anxious to ride a horse all day after that." Christian laughed and grabbed a towel off the chair as he made his way to the shower. Olli stared at the vacated space next to him, trying and failing to think of nothing. When he heard the rush of water from the shower, he got up to make himself coffee.

The pot had just finished brewing when he heard his cell phone. He walked over to the dining room and furrowed his brow at the ID on the phone.

"Hallo, Lena?"

"Oliver Sabel you sexy beast! How are you?!"

"I'm-"

"That's great to hear, listen, I know that we're supposed to make things official on Monday."

"Of course, I'm looking forwa-"

"Yes darling me too looking forward and all that shit, but baby I need you and Rob to start planning something for me before that."

Olli was silent, waiting for Lena to elaborate, he couldn't believe she was already reaching out to him without a formal contract in place, and though he knew Lars would kick up all kinds of fuss at the prospect of working without a safety net, Olli knew that sometimes it was good to bend the rules.

"One of our board-members is retiring because he tried to merge his _own_ member with one of the senior VPs. He's stepping aside and moving to Monaco with her, true love or some shit like that."

"Yeah," Oliver chuckled weakly, "shit."

"Exactly, I mean a good fuck is nothing to throw away your career for, unless it's with me, of course."

The leer he felt coming across the phone line almost made Oliver pull away, but he laughed instead and said "I somehow get the feeling, Lena, that fucking you is more the fast track to promotion than retirement." He was rewarded with her husky laughter as she purred,

"Mmmm. Wouldn't you like to know Mr. Sabel."

"I'll never tell." He said glibly as he handed his towel-clad boyfriend a cup of coffee and kissed him on the cheek. He mouthed "later" in response to Christian's questioning look.

"We'll see Olli, we'll see. So as I was saying, I have to throw this good-bye, good-riddance party for the guy on Wednesday, but I need you to start planning ASAP. I already spoke with Rob this morning and he assured me that your specialty is putting together stuff on short notice. I hope this isn't going to be a problem Oliver, because I get a good feeling from you, and I want us to have a profitable association."

Olli looked at Christian, blissfully munching away on his toast, and realized that he was about to royally fuck up both of their days. Wednesday. It had to be Wednesday. He closed his eyes and said quietly "Wednesday's not a problem Lena, that's plenty of notice compared to what we've had to deal with before." When he finally summoned the courage to look up, Christian was glaring at him, his toast forgotten and his arms crossed in fury.

"Great!" Lena answered, "We'll go over the details and the contract on Monday, and then we'll be in business."

"Yeah, great, see you then. Tschüss" Olli was hanging up the phone before she could answer to make his way slowly to Christian.

"Oliver. Did you forget what Wednesday was?" Olli flinched at the coolness in Christian's voice, the calm belying the raw volcano of anger that Olli could detect by his too-white knuckles and the set of his jaw.

"No. I didn't forget." Olli looked away, nervously massaging the back of his neck.

"Oh. Well great. So maybe you can tell me why the hell you just agreed to work on our anniversary?!"

He had been expecting it, but Christian's indignant roar of frustration still caught Olli by surprise, and he stepped back, a little shocked at the way Christian's voice filled the room.

"Christian, it's a new account, I just met her last night and she's already asking me and Rob-"

"You and Rob?! Forget Rob and forget this new account, Oliver, we made plans, to go to Köln Tuesday night. You're just going to have to tell Rob and whoever the hell else that it's not going to happen. End of discussion."

Olli watched Christian start to storm off to the bedroom and realized that the flushed hot feeling creeping up his face wasn't due to guilt or embarrassment. It was anger, he was angry with Christian, livid, actually, and he was not going to sit and receive a lecture from his boyfriend.

"Hold on a minute Christian, I don't know who you think you are but this isn't the military, I'm not taking orders from you, not now not ever. Besides, it's easy for you if you miss a day of work, I'm sure all the little horsies weep when Christian isn't around, but they'll survive. It's different when you're the boss. I can't afford to miss any opportunities, and thanks to your lazy brother Charlie and I are _still_ trying to get No Limits out of the red. "

Christian whirled around to face him, his finger pointing and accusatory in Olli's face "Leave Gregor out of this."

"No, because if you're going to be pissed at anyone be pissed at him. No Limits was on the verge of bankruptcy, and I have to do everything I can to keep it going. Do you think I like having Tante Charlotte breathing down my neck? You think I _enjoy_ spending sixteen hours a day down there? "

"Yes, I do, I think you love it. You love that place and your 'Rob' more than you love me."

"Christian," Olli said patiently, biting the side of his cheek so he didn't say anything he wouldn't regret. "That may be one of the dumbest things I've ever heard you say. I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing this for us, so that we can have a future, together. Don't you understand that?"

"Well Olli, what kind of future can we have if we don't even get the chance to have a present?"

Olli could only stare as Christian whirled around in a huff, slamming the hallway door behind him. He knew their anniversary was important, and he felt terrible about it, he really did, but why couldn't Christian understand that this was important too? Olli pinched the bridge of his nose and picked up his cell phone. It would blow over, and he'd make it up to Christian, he'd just have to think of something good later. He placed a call to Anna and Miriam to make sure they'd be willing to put in the overtime Tuesday and Wednesday; then to Schneiders to cancel their dinner reservation and to ask Charlie if he could borrow Luca for Wednesday night. When Christian walked out of the apartment he didn't bother to look or say goodbye to Olli, but he slammed the apartment door with extra force and in a fit of pique Olli flipped off the closed door before calling Rob.

"Olli, hi" Rob's voice was smooth, low and calm and Olli could almost smell the incense from his dream.

"Hi Rob, I just got off the line with Lena, and it looks like we're in business."

"Oh Olli, c'est magnifique! I knew you'd make a great impression. You always make a great impression. Look, I'm sorry again, about last night. I was a little drunk, and you looked so damned good. I couldn't help myself. Why do you have to be so tempting Oliver? I find it really hard to behave myself around you. "

Rob chuckled softly and Olli swallowed, ignoring the strange itching heat that raced through him at the sound of Rob's voice and laughter.

"It's fine Rob, really, let's drop it."

"Right, business first."

'Business first." Olli parroted and he pushed the disturbing thoughts away to start laying out the details of the party.

* * *

The weekend passed without anymore disagreement with Christian, because Christian had very obligingly decided to stop talking to Olli. He was in bed before Olli, if he come to bed at all, and was always up, awake and out before Olli as well. Olli ignored him. He'd had more than enough on his plate with the party, and had never worked harder in his life. He'd been operating on about four hours of sleep a night for the nights leading up to the event, and had pulled an all nighter for the day of. But it had all been worth it . Lena had gotten down on one Chanel -clad knee and proposed to him by the end of the night and the ex-exec had thanked him profusely and making promises to spread the word about No Limits amongst his friends. Rob had been absent, for which Olli was supremely grateful. He'd had enough on his plate as it was.

The sweet floating feeling of success hadn't completely dissipated when the party ended, but Olli's eyes were burning now, and he didn't know whether he wanted to kiss Lena or kick her for giving him the account. He took a calming breath and looked at the state of his bar and hoped that at the very least the profit would outstrip the expenses incurred for clean up. He'd finally sent Miriam ,Anna, and Luca home because he knew as bad off as he was, they were exponentially worse off having fended off the advances of about twenty corporate goons, and Lena, who evidently had a thing for wait-staff. He made a mental note to give them bonuses , and put up a sign proclaiming the No Limits closed for business that day. After mopping off the countertop he sat heavily in the blue chair in front of the bar and tried calling Christian again. He couldn't really say why he was trying, he just wanted to share the news with someone, and that someone was always Christian. There had been plenty of times when they had fought like this, but Christian had always been good enough to put it aside for the sake of supporting Olli. But Christian hadn't even bothered to make a token appearance. He understood that It was their anniversary after all, but still Christian should've been adult enough to realize just how important this was . Instead he'd just kept away and Olli was a little confused. It wasn't like he needed Christian's presence or his approval he just, God, he just wanted it was all. He always had.

He shifted to relieve the pressure in his aching back, and rubbed futilely at his temples. This was just perfect, not only was this mess giving him a headache, but this situation with Christian was, as usual, making him cranky. If there was one thing he couldn't stand besides Miriam constantly questioning his authority it was being in a fight with Christian. His boyfriend always knew just the right thing to say, or in this case, not say, to get under Olli's skin, and while that was sometimes a very good thing, when they fought it could often result in Olli being very snarky right back to Christian, and honestly, Christian could never take what he dished out.

He sighed again, willing himself to calm down, and crawled on his hands and knees over to the black couch stretching his frame, trying to soak in the coolness of the leather through his heated cheek. Sleep was pulling at his lids, and he didn't know how long he'd drifted off, but he came to full alertness again when the smell of coffee batted his nose. Without opening his eyes, he smirked at the scent. It was his favorite blend, Christian, no doubt with a caffeinated peace offering. He reached out, smiling a little wider when the cup was placed in his hand, and he sighed as Christian's weight settled against him on the couch and sure strong fingers massaged his scalp.

"Thank you, Schatz. I missed you last night, and I'm sorry." Olli muttered.

"Oh, you're welcome, darling. Nice to know you care."

Olli bolted upright scrambling away from the couch and knocking over the coffee in the process.

"Rob! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how things went last night. I should be the one apologizing. I couldn't be there for you."

Rob's smile was sad, and Olli could feel the tight knot of his nerves coming undone in the face of Rob's sincerity.

"As you can see," Olli waved a hand indicating the general state of disarray, "they enjoyed themselves very much."

"Hmm. Yes, I can see." But Rob's eyes hadn't wavered from Olli for one second, and Olli took a step backward, thinking briefly of a nature program he'd seen once, something about a cobra mesmerizing its prey.

"Is anyone going to help you clean this up? Your boyfriend, perhaps?"

"I sent everyone home, and Christian, let's just say he didn't approve of this party." It felt a bit like betrayal to let the derision slide into his voice just then, but Olli was tired and he wouldn't deny it. He was resentful.

"When does he ever." Rob said quietly.

"Yeah." Olli dabbed at the corner of his eyes, feeling stupid all of a sudden because he was missing Christian, and mad at him at the same time. The funny thing about it was that if Christian _had_ been there, he would've just whined and complained all night. But knowledge of that fact didn't keep the lump out of Olli's throat.

"Come." Rob took Olli by the hand and sat him down on the blue couch. He wordlessly handed him a napkin, then stepped behind the chair and put his hands on Olli's shoulders.

"You're tired, and much too tense Oliver." Rob whispered this right next to Olli's ear, his breath tickling skin there, making Olli blush.

"Maybe I should just-"

He cut his own sentence off with a soft groan and his head sagged forward at the first powerful knead of Rob's hands on his shoulders. It was exactly what he needed. He could almost hear his joints sighing in pleasure as Rob masterfully worked the tension out of his back.

"That's it, Olli, just relax." Rob's voice was low, and his hands sure. It made Oliver's blood heat but with those strong fingers trailing along the nape of his neck, pushing out little sighs and grunts every time they chanced upon a stubborn knot of muscle, Olli couldn't help but give up the tension, choosing to ignore the muffled siren going off in his brain.

"God, you're good at this. Mmm." Olli panted, his head lolling to the side as Rob's fingers dug into his scalp.

It took him a second to realize, but Rob wasn't even really massaging anymore, just tracing Olli's skin with his fingertips, lightly scratching at it and Olli was shivering his legs splayed open, his breathing short and the relaxed feeling giving way to something sharper and more insistent.

"I'm good at a lot of things Oliver." When had he gotten so close? His cheek was right against Olli's, rough and warm and Olli was leaning into it, tension of a different kind suffusing his body with every brush of Rob's fingers.

"Rob," Olli whispered "please." He didn't know what he was asking for until he felt the shock of a hot mouth on his neck, and he caught sight of Rob's pale hand reaching into his shirt to pinch his nipple. He arched right up off the chair then, but Rob's insistent hand pulled him back down and his tongue was tracing wicked patterns in Olli's ear that made him whimper.

"Oh God, don't-" He rocketed away from Rob, trying to ignore his erratic breathing and the scent of Rob's cologne, and his nipple still burning with Rob's touch. He'd been about to say "don't stop." And if he so much as looked at Rob again, he'd probably fall to his knees and beg for more. He braced himself against the blue tiled wall of the bar hoping the next sound he heard would be Rob leaving.

"Oliver."

"What?" He turned to face Rob, who was moving closer and closer to trap Olli between himself and the wall.

"I want you."

"Yeah, I know. You're not the first Rob." The statement was loaded with as much flippancy as Olli could muster. Rob only smiled, inching closer. Olli could see he knew the bravado was false, and quickly crumbling with every centimeter that closed between them. Clear blue eyes bored into his and he stared back, begging for it not to happen, but in a moment of weakness he glanced at Rob's perfectly formed lips and forgot to mask the desire when he looked back up. Rob put his hands on Olli's hips and closed the distance between them. His heat, his scent, the length of him rigid on Olli's thigh, adamantly pushing, his hands gripping lightly, and searing the material between them, it all conspired to make Olli dizzy. He couldn't recognize who he was anymore, all he could recognize was the desire to give in. Heart hammering, he breathed out a soft "No." Grazing his lips against Olli's, Rob said an even softer "Yes."

Olli's eyes fluttered closed when the strange soft mouth took possession of his. There was still a small, vocal part of him saying "no," but the rest of him was actively eagerly saying the opposite. Yes to the hands on his skin, yes to the shameless tongue in his mouth, yes to being pushed against the wall by the light, but strangely savage thrusts of Rob's hips.

He fisted his hands in the lapels of Rob's jacket as Rob suckled his lower lip, gently so much more gently than he thought possible; and realized that Christian had been right, all those years ago.

Ein kuss ist nie nur ein kuss.

Never.

* * *

Ein kuss ist nie nur ein kuss - A kiss is never just a kiss.

I'd like to announce that I am going to become Mrs. Rob Marenbach. I love my little pretzel munching hubby.


	4. Apprehended

**Apprehended**

* * *

There is nothing remotely erotic about this.

The thought catches Olli by surprise, because to him there is something erotic about everything. The surprise is double because he is thinking this about Christian. But it is true. His hands safely hidden by grandma-yellow rubber gloves, he is silent. The tawny hair in his eyes, and the very edge of his pink tongue is peeking through his lips as he concentrates on scrubbing and scouring the rim of the toilet bowl. It isn't sexy. It's just Sunday, and though on the schedule it is really only Olli's turn to clean the shared space, like every second Sunday, Christian wanders in after about 10 minutes, dons the gloves and helps.

Like every second Sunday, he cleans the toilet and the floor, adamant that Olli can't do it right anyway, relegating him to the tub and sink. It doesn't matter whether they're fighting, or still unbelievably in love. This is tradition, steadfast and inviolable.

Christian's adamancy extends to everything. Just so many squirts of cleaning fluid per tile, or his blue undershirt being only for his blue flannel shirt, the white undershirt for the red, or that he sleeps only on the right side of the bed. Olli smiles thinking of this, and doesn't fault him. Christian sleeps on the right side of the bed, and is insistent that Olli sleep on his chest. The two times they deviated from the norm resulted in Olivia and Gregor discovering them prematurely. So, Olli cherishes and protects the idiosyncrasies, and gives in to these "requests" recognizing the little thrill his surrender gives Christian. He never thought it would, but it thrills him too.

Olli sits on the lip of the tub, duties abandoned, ignoring the wet seeping into the back of his thighs, trying to find the inevitable rhythm in his partner's systematic scrubbing. He is always so thorough, so efficient, and this makes Olli a little sad. Christian wastes nothing, in words or in action, and Olli knows this economy of intent and movement, left over from prison, will probably never leave him. He catches Christian whispering to himself, a song that Olli is always on the edge of understanding but never quite hearing. It is something simple, no doubt Gregor would know it, or Stella, but it remains one of the innumerable mysteries of Mann. And Olli finds a serene lack of curiosity for this. It is enough that it's just another habit of Christian's, no need for explanation. And it is because of Christian that Olli now knows that not everything needs to be said. It is because of Christian that Olli feels an odd tickling in his throat, that he cannot attribute to the harsh sterility of cleaning products. They never prick at his eyes like this on any other Sunday, and the feeling is familiar and he recalls when he felt it last.

The evening of Gregor's wedding, he remembers rocking Christian tightly in his arms, marking him with his teeth lips and tongue, and holding on to the ethereal blue of his irises. Christian, whispering his soul into Olli's ear his restraint an afterthought, as he screamed himself hoarse against Olli's neck, writhing, shivering on Olli's lap and begging for everything Olli had to give. And Olli giving it without thought and without reservation, promised Christian everything, even though he'd been frightened and a little vulnerable and a little more than intractably in love, he'd thought, at the time, that he couldn't possibly be any more in love. And he wasn't, until now, when he was on the verge of losing everything.

Christian straightens his spine, and cracks his long neck, before returning to polish the ceramic under the bowl with vigor and Olli looks up to the ceiling, as though trying to draw strength from the little mold spots; because it's time, because he can't keep it in anymore, because the man tapping his gloved fingers on the lip of the bowl is innocent and good and deserves more than Olli can apparently give.

They had made up, they always did. Christian, sweet apologetic and faultless, was waiting for him when he broke free and ran upstairs, his lips burning and shame leadening his stride. They'd both said their "sorry's," and Christian had stepped forward to pull Olli into his arms, pledging to never spend another anniversary apart. Their kiss tasted of ashes and Olli thought it might be better if he never draw another breath again. That had been three days ago. Three days in which Olli walked like a ghost of himself, composed of remorse instead of flesh. He'd drifted, aimless, and Christian kept his distance, and somehow he'd come to land here on the lip of the tub, resolute and remembering.

He walks the few short steps to the bowl and sinks down on his knees, waiting for Christian to get out of his own head, to end his song or to end his rhythm and look, and see. He reaches out to get his attention, because this is important, but Christian is already turning to him, and Olli can never understand how he does it. He cannot comprehend the way Christian looks at him like he is something treasured, something special, his eyes bright and expectant, his mouth quirked happily. He does not deserve it, but it is his, freely given and eagerly accepted.

"What's up?" Christian says, and the full feeling, something warmer than joy and good and right is trying to spill out of him, but it can't, and it's his own fault why. Olli brushes the hair out of Christian's face and takes a shaky breath.

" Baby, I- I made a mistake." he says in rush. "With Rob. I kissed him. I'm- I'm sorry."

He feels more than sees the light die in Christian's eyes. He hears more than feels his hand getting slapped away from Christian's face. Olli wonders briefly, insanely, if myocarditis is communicable, because his chest is hurting badly now, until he realizes it's because he's not breathing. He sees more than hears Christian shouting and demanding and figures that "why" and "how could you" have insinuated themselves somehow. But the words are not processing, he's too busy trying to find a way to make his Chrissie come back. He is cursing himself because he doesn't have an answer, and beginning the chase into the bedroom as Christian storms out, too angry to finish his sentences or the cleaning.

"I'm sorry." He says again, quiet, and it feels like too little against the sea swell of hurt that is Christian.

"I'm so-" he is reaching out hoping that Christian will feel it, will know.

"Don't fucking touch me." And though he says it almost silently, Olli knows that tone, the one he hasn't heard since he first moved in. The one Christian used on him after he first kissed him. Years do not diminish how much that voice cuts. Olli drops his hand, numb and realizes with a start that two wet spots have appeared on his shirt. Christian is wavy and out of focus as Olli blinks furiously, his eyes clear a little and Christian has turned, his eyes are wet and swimming too, unsteady, but his hands are locked on Olli's biceps gripping hard and shaking.

"Why?" he does not say this quietly. Olli is sure that Matthias and Nathalie can hear him clear across the hall, but it doesn't change the fact that Olli doesn't have an answer.

He doesn't want to tell Christian that when he was down there, at No Limits with Robert, he was feeling good and giddy and languid and Robert had pushed him, gently, against the wall and it had felt almost as nice as it usually did with Christian. Rob's lips had been light and undemanding but his hands had been possessive and, god help him, even as the guilt made his guts twist, being trapped between the wall and Rob's chest, Rob's hands, Rob's hips against his pressing and insistent– the guilt mixing with the lust peppered with confusion; and Rob's mouth tasting disconcertingly of apples it had been the most exciting thing Olli had felt in months. But that wasn't why he was sorry. All that, he could've explained away. What would take time and what he could never say was how it hadn't sated the yawning pit of want inside him, how too large a part of him was already spoiling for more.

"I want you in my bed Oliver, and you want it too. I know you do." Rob had said, and Olli had never seen so feral a look, his eyes alight with sex and promises before he left.

"I don't know. It just happened." Olli answers finally, blushing with the shame and the memory of Rob's hand under his shirt pulling him closer.

"When?" Christian has let go of him and Olli mourns the loss of contact, the heat of his grip the only constant because he feels he might go flying off the Earth if Christian doesn't hold some part of him down. But their gaze is connected and it's enough for now. So Olli presses on.

"Last week, last Thursday." His throat is too dry and this comes out hoarse and scratchy, but Christian flinches as though the words have flayed him.

"When you threw that God damned party?! Right the fuck downstairs?!

Olli closes his eyes and simply nods .

Christian is inches away from him, he can feel his breath whistling across his lips and Olli doesn't have anymore words, he doesn't know a language that could contain how sorry he is.

"Look at me Olli."

And Olli's eyes snap open, he couldn't disobey even if he wanted to, but he shouldn't have, because Christian's eyes hold his, promising murder, revenge, anything and everything but forgiveness.

"You kissed that asshole, and waited this long to tell me about it? Meanwhile you have me apologizing to you like I did something wrong? You're sick."

When Christian shoulders past Olli and grabs his wallet off the desk, Olli lets go of the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and follows him out of the bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." His tone is clipped and Olli wants more than anything, for Christian to look at him again. He cannot read this cold stranger and it makes everything in him clench tight in fear.

"Christian, wait."

And to his surprise Christian does. He pauses at the apartment door and turns slowly to Olli, who wishes he hadn't said anything at all, because he's never seen that beautiful face marred with so much loathing, screwed with anger and contempt.

"Olli. I can't stand to be around you right now. Just let me go, let me think."

Olli nods slightly, training his eyes to the floor until he hears the click of the door and Christian's retreating footsteps. He doesn't move again until David comes up softly behind him and lays a questioning hand on his shoulder.

"Dude, are you ok? What's with the statue routine?"

"I- Christian-" and trying to answer the question is harder than he thought. If he says it to someone else, if he admits it, will Christian ever walk back through that door again? Olli's mouth opens and closes around silence, and he's dimly aware that David is frightened. But even though he can't explain, he's thankful that the boy pulls him into a strong hug anyway.

"Hey, hey, c'mon. I don't know what happened but you guys will be o.k., you always are."

"No." it is said hoarsely, but it is said unequivocally. "Not this time." Olli slips out of David's arms and sinks to the couch cradling his head in his hands. Hours pass, and Olli doesn't take his eyes off the front door. He thanks Andi when his best friend throws a blanket over him and makes him drink a sleeping pill, promising to wake him if Christian comes in, and settles at the other end of the couch to keep sentinel.

When the morning comes, it is bright and heedless and the finches that took up residence on the ledge are mocking him in their song. Olli is startled to see Christian standing over him, his eyes tight and tired, his body more still than crystal.

"No more business meetings. No more parties. You're not to work with him ever again." Christian says quietly.

"Never." Olli agrees rapidly. Christian is immobile granite, arms crossed as he watches Olli.

"I don't know if I can trust you anymore." His voice cracks, like the Sistine chapel ceiling, and Olli is vaulting over the couch tentatively reaching his arm out to give life to Christian's hope, which sits limp and nearly lifeless like Adam's hand the moment before creation. Christian fixes him with a glare and Olli freezes for a moment, wanting so badly to complete the circuit, wanting so badly to do things right.

"I'll do whatever it takes, Christian. Just, don't go. Please?"

His arms are crossed tight, and Olli can see his hands shaking as Christian considers, staring at the floor, at the couch, at his own feet. His hand is hovering now over Christian's and Olli takes a moment to wonder, as always, at the perfect symmetry and smoothness of those hands; the hands of a painter or a surgeon on an ex convict and a stable-hand. He looks up and his breath stills at the open devastation and sorrow on Christian's face, so he doesn't hesitate, and pulls him in even though it's sick. It's sick that he has to comfort Christian from the hurt he caused, that he's the one that put that look on his face, and he's not sure if he can make it go away, but he'll try.

"How could you do that to me Olli? How?" Christian keeps asking, mumbling it through his tears, his hands pressing the question into Olli's biceps, and the word seems to come from the slump of his shoulders. How, how, how?

Olli can't say anything because he still doesn't know , and if he examined it too closely, he expects he wouldn't like the answer very much at all. He wishes his arms were bigger so that he could fold Christian more fully into himself and protect him, protect him from people like him.

"I'm sorry." He mutters over and over, and "I love you" he thinks desperately hoping Christian can feel the truth of it.

They stay together like this, until finally neither says anything. They walk into the bedroom and sink, fully clothed onto the mattress. Olli watches Christian watch him until Christian turns away, wordless to face the other side tucking himself, small and defenseless into a ball of misery. Olli inches closer, but he knows better than to touch now. Instead he lays his head on the pillow, breathing Christian's scent and thankful that he's still here, that he loves Olli enough to try. For now, it's enough and Olli settles into sleep, determined to break down the wall he's built between them.

He's not sure what time it is, maybe hours later maybe minutes but he opens his eyes to find Christian looking at him again, a hard searching look, and as Olli reaches up to smooth the wrinkled space between his eyebrow, Christian catches his hand and stills it. He presses Olli until he is on his back, trapped beneath Christian's weight and his sentinel blue eyes. Christian is kissing him softly at first and Olli is so grateful he doesn't notice, at first, the pressure fixing his wrists to the mattress. Only when the demanding lips and tongue won't let him up for air does he start to panic. Not because he's scared of Christian, never that, but because he wants to die like this, trapped and held by Christian. He is gasping for air when Christian moves to his neck, hauling Olli up to squeeze him to his chest, to run his tongue over the stubble and to bite and nip at every exposed square inch. Olli is writhing, his head thrown back, grinding himself down on Christian's jean clad cock needing to feel. The clothes are in the way, he needs Christian's skin, his lips, his cock- he needs it to be OK again.

"Christian, please" Olli whispers. He pulls at the hem of Christian's shirt and whimpers when his knuckles brush a swath of hot skin. Christian snarls and, efficient as ever, has their clothes off in seconds. He is holding Olli down once more, his dick hard and insistent against Olli's belly. Christian's mouth is on his neck, and Olli knows he is leaving marks, in fact it hurts a little, but he can't fight Christian's strength so he twines their legs and his mind whites out and he moans low in his throat with every hot slide of Christian's prick against his.

The hold is so tight that Olli has decided breathing is a luxury he will do without, subsisting instead on the hot wet openmouthed kisses against the base of his throat, and Christian's soft growling noises.

"Mine." Christian says, straddling Olli and stretching his arms even further above him. Olli ignores the creak of his joints because Christian's cock is pushing past his lips into his throat now and, oh god, it's just like his dream. It's so good, Christian's balls scraping along his chin and the thin bitterness of his pre-come on Olli's tongue, his harsh breathing and the way he's shaking every time he slides in, gasping when he pulls out. It's damned good, and it's over too soon. Olli tries to follow when Christian slides back down, his dick leaving a hot wet trail down Olli's chest and stomach, but Christian only increases the pressure on his wrists to stop his squirming.

Christian's breathing is furious and harsh when he throws Olli's leg over his shoulder. Olli shudders, wrapping his leg around Christian's waist and cocking his hips up to make it easier for him to slide inside. But Christian doesn't want easy, he's leaning heavily on Olli and the burning stretch in his leg muscle, and Christian's fingertips digging cruelly into his thigh have Olli wincing. It's nothing compared to Christian pushing past the tight ring of muscle to seat himself fully inside Olli. There will be bruises, Olli knows, on the leg that's over his shoulder, not to mention his wrists, still trapped. Christian doesn't move, he looks down at Olli instead as though he's confused how he got here, as though he doesn't know if this is where he needs to be.

"Christian- mein Gott, bitte."

Olli whimpers at the feeling of Christian's thick cock pulsing inside him and rolls his hips imploringly. The movement seems to touch something in Christian because the confusion on his face is replaced with a frightening look of determination. He pulls out and slams back in, then suddenly he is fucking Olli so hard and fast, curses and Olli's name fall from his lips like they are one and the same, barely heard above the stinging slap of flesh against flesh.

For Olli , it's almost too much. Christian is hot and implacable above him, filling him, fucking him, owning him. He's hitting Olli's spot with every ferocious thrust and It doesn't take long for Olli to start screaming as his cock twitches, untouched, in release. His ass is milking Christian's cock, and when Christian comes, shortly after, his face is creased in something between agony and ecstasy. When he comes, it's with a sound that breaks Olli's heart, a choked pleading sob that doesn't begin to assuage the hurt inside. He collapses onto Olli's chest, shakes his head back and forth and whispers, "You are, aren't you? Mine? God- please, please, Olli."

"Yes." Olli answers, wrapping Christian tight, "Yes." And how did they get here again? Olli rocking Christian in his arms making promises, but this time not knowing or caring if he can keep them.

He knows before he opens his eyes, the next morning, that Christian has left. There is a small blue note staring him in the face where Christian should be, and he picks it up numbly.

_ Went to Waldenstyck. –C. _

He turns it over looking for anything else and on the back he sees something crossed out. It is as incomprehensible as the sudden loneliness he's plunged into and he crumples the note flinging it across the room to clutch despondently at his hair and let out the fresh crop of tears that have already queued in his eyes.


	5. Solitary Confinement

Olli's reflection regarded him soberly from the mirror. He wasn't sure what time it was, and it didn't matter, not really. He had woken up after a few meager hours of fitful sleep reaching to pull Christian closer and had found nothing. Not that that was abnormal now. It was the state of things - a punch in the gut every morning, and it shouldn't have been a surprise. It shouldn't. But after two years, Christian's presence beside him in bed had been a given. After two years, he had forgotten how to rest his head on a pillow and not a smooth strong chest. And he didn't realize, until it was gone, how much he actually liked Christian's tiny snuffling snores. There was no sleeping after that, in the cool emptiness of a bed that wasn't even his. So, in what had become his new tradition, Olli had gotten up and prepared for his day – four hours early.

He squeezed toothpaste on to his brush – from the bottom of the tube, Christian hated wasting- and scratched lazily at his beard. He hadn't bothered to shave since Christian left, hadn't bothered to do much of anything, except serve drinks at the No Limits for twelve hours before crawling back up to the flatshare to contemplate his navel or his hand or whatever his eye happened to fall on at the time, or to drown himself in more and more work before he slumped into their , his? Christian's? bedroom to pretend at sleeping, he could feel everything inside him shattering. He was sure that if someone looked inside him now, instead of organs or a heart they would find tiny bits of broken stone or destroyed glass.

There were times when he could convince himself that it was just like any other time when Christian would take off running, scared and simply unable to deal. Olli would wait, he'd weave a loom of waiting, until Christian circled back to him navigating whatever emotional odyssey he'd taken off on. Never mind that Olli was the one who had launched this particular journey, never mind that he didn't know anymore what he had to offer if Christian did come back. He tried to silence that nagging, questioning gnaw in his bones of "what if." What if he didn't come back? What if he could never forgive him? Sometimes the missing and the wanting got so bad, that in his less than penitent moments, Olli had thundered and complained to Andi in righteous indignation. It just wasn't fair. Who got that worked up over a kiss? He was a man damnit, sometimes he looked, but it was just one stupid mistake it didn't change his feelings, it didn't change the fact that he loved Christian more than anything. He hadn't made that kind of a fuss over Miriam had he? This was the same thing. But it had been easier to be angry than to face the consequences of his own destructive desire, dark, hot and monstrous and, Olli knew, only slumbering beneath the surface. Waiting.

Looking at this sunken cheeked dull eyed version of himself Olli couldn't pretend anymore. The only thing keeping him from giving in was his guilt, which he knew, wasn't even his, it was something he'd unknowingly learned from Christian, this terrible fatalistic self-recrimination. But it was either this, carry his burden, biblically bearded and beset like Job, or give into the volcano boiling at his core. He chose the guilt. He chose Christian. Guilt, unfortunately, carried the onus of responsibility so Olli had done what Christian had asked, and told Rob that he'd need a break. Olli spat in the sink as he remembered his last conversation with Rob. THE last, he'd make sure of it. He used all the best buzzwords, just the way Rob taught him, and he'd tried to be so professional.

"We'll need to take a sabbatical from the event planning. He'd said, "I think our collaboration has moved beyond the acceptable boundaries of good taste and I'll need a little time to regroup." Rob, true to form, had not been as professional, and received the news with all the syrupy sweet fake remorse of a seasoned politician.

"Oliver, it pains me to hear this. Just tell me, Is this coming from you or from stable boy??"

"His name is Christian, and this comes from me. He- I-"

"What, Oliver?"

Professionalism flew out the window as he heaved a sigh.

"You just, you really don't take no for an answer?"

Rob had laughed, low and quiet, and the sound had almost made Olli forget why he was doing this, but all he'd had to do was look at his still bruised wrists to remember.

"I don't. You know me, I can't help but go after what I want. But you and I, we're mature enough to keep things separate. Besides, we could have so much fun together Olli. "

"Yeah, well better to not chance it, ok? I happen to like my boyfriend, I like things the way they are- were. "

"Does he mean that much to you, that you'd throw away your future?"

The yes had been right there, and as Olli replayed the conversation in his mind, he really didn't know why he'd stumbled. Christian did mean everything to him. Wasn't it obvious?

"I- He-."

"Calm down, you don't have to answer that Olli. At least not right now. I'm not a baby, I can respect your wishes, even if I don't think they actually ARE your wishes."

"You don't know the first thing, _Robert_" Olli had said icily

"I know enough, _Oliver_. I know you like it when I pinch your nipple. I know that little spot behind your ears that makes you go all weak. I know it makes you hot when I run my fingers through your hair. I know you want me to fuck you until you can't remember your name – or his. I know you were _this_ close to coming just from kissing me. Or was that someone else's cock twitching against my leg? I also know this Olli: it's only a matter of time. Verstanden?"

"You're an ass." Olli snarled.

"That's probably true Schatzchen. But, at least you know what you're getting into."

Olli had clicked his phone shut and tried to ignore the quiet certainty in Rob's voice, the certainty that crept to the darkest part of his soul and nested there, a crow hungrily eying his relationship, waiting to swoop. He hadn't spoken to or seen Rob since then. Oliver knew it was just too risky, business or no.

He cleaned his toothbrush and placed it in the holder, leaning his had against the cool of the mirror and gave in to his other morning ritual, psyching himself up to get through just one more day. One more day of hearing the entrance bell ring and hoping against hope that Christian would walk in. One more day of feeling his phone vibrate, while his heart rushed to his throat only to see that the call hadn't come from him. One more day of fake and brittle smiles that were less and less able to fool everyone. He looked into his doppelganger's eyes, looking for the beauty that Christian had once claimed was in them. _Du hast den schönsten Augen, die ich kenne._ He couldn't see it, not anymore. There was no beauty there, Christian had been wrong or maybe seeing his own reflection in Olli's eyes. He stood searching for long minutes and didn't realize, until he felt the throbbing pain in his hand, that he'd been gripping the sharp edges of the sink too hard. Frustrated, he opened the cabinet and mechanically cleaned and bandaged his wounds before slamming the mirrored door shut. It shattered on impact. He quickly swept the pieces out of the sink and into the bin not caring as the glass cut his fingers more. He sighed and walked out of the bathroom to get dressed. He was still lost, nothing had changed, it was just another day.

Miriam, to her credit had been wonderful, and lately it had almost been like having another co-owner. Olli knew his concentration was suffering when half the time he got the orders completely wrong, and the other half he hardly bothered to make. He could charm his mistakes away with the customers, but if Miriam hadn't charmed Max at the wholesalers after Olli mixed up the order dates, they would've been out of vodka for months.

When he slumped down the steps, she was already there arranging the pastries on the display tray and greeting him warmly with coffee and a small roll.

"Hey Boss!"

"Miriam, hey." Olli winced as he grabbed the steaming mug.

"Oh, your hand." Miriam reached out gingerly and grimaced at the little cuts and bruises that peppered Olli's fingers.

"It's nothing." Olli answered, pulling his arm away from her and almost knocking over the pastry tray. He took a long scalding sip and forced a smile .

"If you say so." She looked at him doubtfully, and passed him a little butter and jam

"Any messages?" Olli asked, wanting to move on before she started asking any questions. He loved Miriam, but he wasn't about to have another four hour conversation about his situation with Christian. Andi mother-henned him enough for two people.

"Um, Yeah. Just one from last night… " Olli watched as Miriam re-stacked the pastries on the case and fiddled with her apron. There were only two people that would have set his normally unflappable Miriam on edge.

"Rob?" He whispered as a vicious pang of want-regret-anger-lust sliced his heart."

"Worse," Miriam said, "Lena."

"Shit." Oliver groaned, rubbing his face in frustration.

"She's coming over here today around 14:30, and she sounded pissed off."

"OK," Olli sighed "I'm going to be in the back doing some bookkeeping, let me know as soon as she gets here, and if Anna is late again tell her she forfeits her tips for the day."

Olli walked into the back office to briefly contemplate the bottle of whiskey that had become his other business partner on the really bad days, but decided against it. He needed to be completely focused if he was going to deal with Lena today. Terminating his "association" with Rob meant cutting things of with Lena as well since all she wanted from him were the "Marenbach – Sabel event specials." -her nomenclature. Olli had gamely avoided her at first after cutting things off with Rob, but her increasingly annoyed emails, then phone calls let him know she was none to pleased with this turn of events. When she finally waltzed in that afternoon, on a cloud of perfume, sunglasses and nicotine, Olli was already back behind the bar covering for Anna.

"Well at least you have the balls not to run away Sabel. The offer still stands to personally examine them by the way."

"Lena. How are you?" Oliver answered civilly, as he quickly placed a martini in front of her. She eyed it suspiciously, but after dipping in one slender fingertip to sample the cocktail, she murmured in approval and downed it in two gulps.

"Olli Olli Olli." She whispered, smiling serenely. "I hate it when we fight darling. She wrapped a hand around his tie and slowly pulled him close. "But I hate it more when you fuck with my job. What is the deal, Schatz? It's been three weeks, I have events, you and Rob plan events. Baby, we're the perfect team!"

"Lena," Olli said warningly, still trying to free his Ferragamo from her grip.

_ "Ol-li _ Lena mimicked, as she pulled him closer to laugh in his face.

He winced and tore his tie away from her, signaling Miriam to bring another Martini.

"Oh you can keep the sexy blonde coming with the drinks, that doesn't change the fact, Oliver, that you are contractually obligated, as outlined in paragraph 30 sub section C. To plan and manage events AS I see fit WHEN I see fit. I see fit for you and Rob to work together. Why fuck with a good thing"

"Lena, he's simply not…professional. I'm perfectly capable of planning events without him." Oliver wasn't even sure if he was doing a good job of convincing himself, let alone Lena. It was true that Olli was more creative than Rob, but Rob's network was a thing of beauty, a tesseract of Dusseldorf's movers and shakers, one which he desperately wanted access to.

"Honey, I'm sure you're capable of a lot of things, Lena whispered dangerously, "I'm also sure I don't care. You're just a pretty face Olli, and if you don't partner up with Rob to plan this event I have coming up, you'd better be a pretty face with a pretty good lawyer. As for professionalism. Ha."

She pulled him in by his tie again to whisper in his ear, the cigarette and gin scent causing Olli to blink rapidly.

"You didn't look so professional when his tongue was all over your chest. But whatever you do on your own time is your business. Don't. Fuck. With. Me."

Oliver watched dumbfounded as Lena finished her second Martini and stalked out, with a wink for Miriam and a withering glance for him.

"By the way the beard looks like shit, ages you 10 years. Shave it off, ja? Tchuss baby."

"Oh my God, are you OK Olli?" Miriam asked glancing at the entrance to make sure Lena was really gone.

"She's such an awful woman. What are you going to do?" Miriam wondered aloud, biting her lips nervously.

Olli rubbed his temples and sighed.

"I don't know Miriam. I just don't know."

"If you're actually going to , call um.. him -"

"Rob," Olli nearly shouted the name with frustration but reigned it in at Miriam's frightened expression.

"Just, be careful, ok?" Miriam touched his arm gently and Olli snorted, "Where have I heard that before?"

Olli stalked back to his office. Lena's brash toughness had been funny to witness when he wasn't on the receiving end of it, and though her threat had him sweating a little bit, Olli just knew there had to be a way around it. He took out his address book and dialed Lars' office directly.

"Hi Uncle."

"Hey Oliver, I was just about to call you. Listen, I just got a call from S&M's in house counsel? What the hell is going on? He started going on and on about breach of contract, but I told him that was impossible, it is impossible isn't it?"

"Shit," Olli muttered to himself, he wouldn't even get the chance to sugarcoat it for Lars, he should've known better, Lena was a shoot first, ask no questions kind of girl.

"Yeah, Um that's what I'm calling about," Olli answered nervously. "I can't get into it right now, but I'm just not going to be able to work with Lena anymore, and she's not too happy about that. In fact, she came in here not too long ago threatening to sue."

He heard Lars sighing at the other end, and could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, a habit that reminded Olli forcefully of Henriette, and one he only ever saw his Uncle do when he'd messed up somehow.

"Olli, I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with…but as your lawyer I have to tell you, we might not have a leg to stand on here. That contract is air tight and her lawyer is out for blood, or money. I get the feeling she doesn't differentiate much between the two.

"Lars, there has to be something, anything, I just- I can't work with them anymore. It's not an option."

"Them?" Lars asked curiously.

"Yeah," Oliver covered quickly, "she and her her staff."

Olli waited for his Uncle's response. It was fifty- fifty with Lars, he'd either completely buy it, or very tactfully tell his nephew to stop bullshitting him.

Finally Lars broke the silence. "Oliver, you're not telling me something, and that's your prerogative, but if I'm going to help you I'm going to have to know eventually, you do know that right? Regardless, I'll get one of the contract specialists here to take a look, there's always a loophole."

"Danke Uncle Lars, you're the best."

"We'll see if you say that when you get my bill, Olli-chen. But hey, a big time club owner like you should be able to afford one of the premier attorneys in Munich."

"Oh?" Olli said "See if you get me as a babysitter for Sophia the next time I'm there."

"Whatever Olli, she practically takes care of herself, she's like her Papa. Speaking of your next visit, when are you and Christian coming down again?"

Olli felt his insides turn sour at Lars' question, and he tried, valiantly, to keep from sounding bitter when he answered, but he was sure his uncle heard his sharp intake of breath, and the unintended dip of his voice.

"I don't know Uncle, things are a little crazy. Let me know if you come up with a loophole ok? I've got to go, lunch rush." Olli quickly got off the line and went back out to Miriam.

It had been an innocuous question. Something couples did all the time, visit family ,make plans for the future. He knew the rest of his day was shot, so Olli stayed in his office and tried calling Christian again.. But the tinny whine beep and click of his voicemail never got tired of mocking him. He felt infuriated, nothing was under his control, he was at Lena and Rob's mercy and until Christian answered his phone or came back, he was stuck. He stared at the picture on his desk, one that Miriam had snapped when Christian had come home last summer after a week of camping, the last time Christian had done something like this. He'd felt out of control then too, and hated it just as much. Staring at the picture Olli felt something in him shift and crystallize. He could accept that Lena and Rob were out of his control, but this, this he could do something about, and he wouldn't waste one more day pining and hoping for Christian's return. Olli was going to go get him. He was Christian's, he wouldn't deny that, could never deny that again. But Christian was his too and he was going to bring him back and make damn well sure that he remember it.

He burst out of the office, frightening Miriam with the speed with which he rushed by. He took the steps three at a time and after a quick shave and a change into more comfortable clothes he raced back downstairs with instructions for Miriam.

"I'm going to Waldenstyck. Ask Charlie if she can spare Luca, don't take no for an answer,- she can. And tell Andi where I went if you see him." If Miriam was flustered by Olli's sudden departure she didn't show it, quickly nodding at his instructions and shooing him out the door.

Olli didn't stop tapping his foot for the duration of the four hour carbide. He was keyed up and unsure of what he would say, what he could do to prove to Christian that they belonged together. Relief and apprehension jockeyed for first place in his gut as they pulled up to the castle gates. To Olli's surprise Gregor was already out front waiting.

"Hi Oliver."

"Gregor, hey."

Olli knew he had to be careful, Gregor wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the moment, but he could take it as a good sign that he was allowing letting him come to the castle.

"How's Christian? In general? Do you, um. Do you think he'd be ready to talk?"

"I don't know Oliver." Gregor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You really fucked up, you know? I mean Christian was like a ghost when he got here. He trusted you Oliver, more than he's ever trusted anyone in his life and you go and fuck some random asshole."

"Wait, is that what he told you? That I slept with someone?" Olli was confused, he was tired, he was talking to the wrong Mann, and he found he didn't much care for Gregor's finger in his face.

"He said you cheated on him. Call it what you want, you broke my little brother's heart." Gregor laughed bitterly. "If this is your idea of looking after someone you seriously need to re-evaluate." Gregor followed up his pronouncement with a hard poke to Olli's shoulder, and Olli slapped his hand away angrily and raised his voice.

"God-damnit Gregor! Please, I didn't fuck, or sleep with anyone, I swear. I kissed someone, that's it, just a stupid fucking kiss." Even though Oliver knew there was nothing just about what he'd done with Rob, but he hadn't crossed the line. He ignored he insidious whisper of "yet" in his thoughts.

"A kiss?" Gregor answered skeptically, seeming to deflate "that's it?"

"Yeah, Gregor, but I'm not proud of it or anything." Gregor was chuckling to himself.

"You guys are insane, you know? God the way Christian's been carrying on I just assumed…"

"You assumed wrong. I love your brother Gregor, I'd NEVER do something like that to him. It was just a dumb dumb mistake. You can understand, can't you?"

"Sarah kept making mistakes with Leonard." Gregor said quietly. Olli had no answer, not even Luise could completely clear that hurt. They both said nothing, until finally Gregor sighed. "I know you love him Olli, I was shocked when he told me. But it's just a kiss-nothing more right?"

"Nothing more." Olli affirmed.

"Come on, come in. He's in the east wing guest room. I'll take you to him, but you know Christian. You might as well have shot him through the heart. It's going to take time."

Olli's heart thundered wildly in his chest and he mumbled his thanks before letting Gregor lead him.

"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes."

He was unsurprised that Christian refused to open the door. Olli had been in this exact place in one way or another so many times, on the outside and pleading. Whether it was, 'don't take steroids' or 'watch your heart' or 'come out tot your brother' or 'admit you love me' -Christian was always locking himself behind doors, behind expectations; and it seemed always to fall to Olli to find the key to opening them.

"Christian," He tried again, it had been an hour since Gregor had left him standing there. Though a part of Olli appreciated his determination, a larger part of him was getting tired. He slid down to lean against the door.

"If you won't open up, fine, but just listen to me. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, and I'd never hurt you. That kiss, it was just, I was so tired and he got me by surprise. I swear it meant nothing. How could it? I just want-" Olli paused as the tears he'd been keeping at bay slowly crept out.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Only you. I'm yours. I promise."

He heard the door click a second too late before he fell backward into the room, and ended up looking up into Christian's eyes. He scrambled quickly to his feet and stood a hair's breadth away, breathing deeply. He'd missed this incredible scent, and Olli wanted nothing more than to pull him close to thread his fingers through the straw blonde hair and never let him go, but as he reached out Christian stopped him.

"Olli. I don't know if I can be with you anymore. It was bad enough before, everyone looking at you wanting you." Olli watched Christian's fists clench. "But you never did anything. Until now. And I know it wasn't just a kiss Oliver. I _know_ it. You think I didn't notice how you looked at him? How you blushed _every_time he came near you? You were like a fucking cat in heat."

Christian was in his face, breathing heavily, and Olli felt a curious mix of rage and despair twisting his insides. He grabbed Christian's biceps and hauled him closer to kiss him, to remind him of everything that was good and right and important. And Christian yielded for a sweet second, his mouth parting under Olli's as he gave a tiny sigh, resting his hands on Olli's hips for a moment, a moment of dulcet forgetting as they tasted each-other. But just as quickly as Olli had felt the crumbling resistance, he felt it slam back in full force when Christian pushed him off, gasping for breath.

"Did you stop working with him?" For the first time in a long time Olli couldn't read Christian's expression, it was clouded, inaccessible.

"I-, I-'m trying It's not as easy as you think." Olli stammered.

"Get out."

"Christian! God, just let me explain, ok? I-"

"Olli please! Just get out. I tried, ok? But it's just not going to work. Go."

"No, Christian, I can't, I love you, and we just can't go on like this with this! "

Olli watched, he was close, he knew, one more second or word or touch and Christian would melt into him where he belonged, would let him explain everything. It was what they both wanted. His fingers tingled with the anticipation of being able to touch, to soothe but he felt the air rush out of him at what Christian said next.

"Yeah. You might be right. We can't, can we? So maybe we shouldn't."

"Christian, stop, what are you saying?"

"Go. Away. I just can't Olli. Don't you understand? I can't get hurt again. Please, just go, let me let you go."

His eyes were closed tight and he was speaking softly now, almost chanting and pleading with Oliver to leave. He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't deny the quiet finality of Christian's voice. He moved closer to pull him in anyway, to let him know that it would be alright, but Christian recoiled violently at his touch and said one word.

"Go!" It was loaded with such venom and malice that Olli could almost feel the sting of it, numbing and shocking him to submission. He turned and walked slowly out of the room, brushing silently past Gregor who, had run up to see what all the yelling was about.

"Kiss Luise for me, Ja?" Olli mumbled as he fired off a text to the cab company, and went outside to sit at the castle steps and wait.

When he got back to No Limits, numb and reeling, he listened to the messages on his office phone and slumped down defeated. The contract attorney had told Lars that his client was better off acceding to whatever demands the in house attorneys had made. Oliver had to laugh, he thought he'd been helpless before, at least the morning had held some semblance of possibility. But now he was well and truly fucked. He wasn't sure if Rob was behind Lena's sudden penchant for litigation but the fact remained. They would be working together again.


	6. Reasonable Doubt

**Reasonable Doubt**

**

* * *

**

"Oliver. I was under the impression that our…_association_ you called it? That our association was at an end."

Olli could almost feel the traces of smug satisfaction that lined Rob's voice, and he thought, it might just be worth it to hang the phone up and throw himself on the mercy of the court.

"Let's just say I was persuaded otherwise by your good friend Lena." He answered, his annoyance barely in check.

"I taught her everything she knows, "Rob replied smoothly.

"That would explain why she's so unpleasant." Olli answered evenly.

"Et tu, Olli? Come on. I'm not that bad. Besides, maybe you're more upset with yourself than with me? You shouldn't be. You've done nothing wrong Oliver." His voice had dipped an octave on the Oliver, making the name sound like it was a synonym for orgiastic excess, a chanted sacrament of lust.

Olli ignored the heat coloring his cheeks and gathering at his collar at the sound.

"Rob, I'm about to be more upset if we don't talk about this event, OK?" He heard Rob's familiar chuckle in response.

"Easy Tiger, you want to talk shop, we'll talk shop. Business first."

It was frighteningly easy to fall into the old pattern with Rob, ideas volleying back and forth between them until they emerged with a completely unique and inimitable whole, as they always did. The million euro idea, Rob would call it, and it truly was a rewarding collaboration, aside from all the other issues that accompanied it. And Olli had to wonder what it would it have been like if he weren't stuck in this middle ground, stretched thin between Christian, the rigors of his job and the insistent demands of his body. In a perfect world, Christian would be sitting across from him right now, and granted, he'd probably be jealous and angry. But at the moment, even an angry jealous Christian had his advantages over a Christian who was miles away and possibly not coming back.

"Olli? Hello? You still there?"

Olli snapped out of his reverie to quickly answer, hoping Rob wouldn't press him about his uncharacteristic inattention.

"Yes, sorry. I'll talk with the wholesalers and you'll contact the DJ. I'll have Dieter do the ice sculpture, and I know not to hire Bruno for security this time.

"That's my guy. " Rob said warmly. "I'll see you in a couple of days, Oliver."

He wanted to tell Rob not to say his name that way, just to not say anything at all until he fixed this whole insane situation, until he'd won back Christian's trust, but he knew how crazy he would sound, and how it wouldn't change anything anyway. He mumbled his goodbyes and set about making all the proper calls.

He was grateful for the distraction of planning the event, it was a relief not to think of the ice in Christian's stare as he'd begged Olli to go. It was far easier to talk budgets and schedules with Robert than it was to feel his heart twist and shrink every time he called Gregor and the elder Mann sadly told him "No, not yet," or "Sorry, Olli." So he'd dedicated himself to planning and waiting during the day and ignoring his need for either man during the night.

But he couldn't ignore the dreams that plagued him. Christian looming cold and silent in the landscape of his mind, a watchtower of castigation, as he rutted madly under Rob, moaning, gasping and pleading for mercy from either or both, but he received no help, and just as he'd feel himself shaking and shuddering into orgasm Rob would pull out and Christian would turn and walk away. Olli would wake at that point, tangled and sweaty in the sheets, his dick throbbing painfully and his stomach sour. He knew he couldn't last long like this.

The actual day of he party proved to be the best that Olli had had in a while, and by the time the DJ arrived he finally had gained a few moments to appreciate the fruits of his hard work, and it should have felt good. This was, to date, the most successful party Oliver had ever put together, and within the space of minutes cards had been pressed into his hand and promises to his ear by some of Dusseldorf's most powerful king-makers. A month ago, even a week ago it would have thrilled him straight to his core. He truly had arrived. But now that he was here he found that his chief desire was to just turn around and go back the way he came as quickly as possible. It seemed he could never have both, it was either his Mann or his career. Thinking about it made him tired, and cranky, so he let Rob and Lena work the crowd and he made his way over to the back booth to drown himself in vodka and remorse. Let the crowd think he was mysterious and aloof – a loner. As he slid into the booth he figured the cool loner routine would serve his needs just fine. Especially the "alone," part he mused bitterly.

It had been one of the first things Rob had taught him, and it followed along the lines of show business. Always leave them wanting more. Maybe Christian had known this intrinsically, knew exactly what to push and when to pull back in order to cause that unquenchable ache in Olli. He started when he felt someone take a hold of his hand, the touch firm, gentle and familiar. He looked up into Rob's blue-gray eyes and sighed, feeling the exhaustion, the energy of all his pretenses slipping away.

"What's going on Oliver? You're not yourself, and you haven't been for days. Tell me. Please."

Rob's other hand came to rest on his, and though he was across the booth, seemingly safe on the other side of the small table that separated them, Olli felt as though his hand and his rapidly thumping heart were caught in a vice. Rob continued to question him as his fingers took inventory of the tiny scars on Olli's hand. The silk soft pad of his finger trips tracing the nearly microscopic bruises, brushing against them almost reverently, and sending a familiar, distracting heat racing up Olli's arm. Olli wanted to sob at this gentleness. He still did not fully understand, doubtedhe ever could understand, who this man was who, with one breath, said the filthiest things he'd ever heard in his life, and in another caressed his hands with the infinite gentleness of a saint asking him hard hard questions in a too soft voice. Every time he thought he'd grasped the truth of who he was he slipped, quicksilver fast, through Olli's fingers to burrow his way deeper into Olli's thoughts.

"Does it have to do with these? Did your horse boy do this to you?"

And for once, Olli didn't hear the derision, he, instead, saw the genuine concern on Rob's features.

It was alien. It was alluring, this concern that came not from a place of duty, like Miriam, or friendship, like Andi. It was all for him, and he wanted to take it, he needed it now more than ever. Olli bit his lip and tried to pull away from Rob's grasp.

"No, no." He answered tiredly. "It was just an accident, that's all. Really."

Rob refused to let go, and slowly, with the same reverence, brought Olli's fingers to his lips, kissing each finger tip in turn, his eyes shut tight as if in prayer or supplication, his skin alabaster and glowing in the dark of the booth.

"Rob, stop. I don't want this." Olli gasped, shocked at the hot velvet of Rob's pursed lips.

Rob's hand gentled on his, light, not demanding or even asking, just light, caressing, and there. Olli felt his eyes closing of their own accord.

"What 'this'? What don't you want?" Rob's voice- warm, dark and thick in the darkness- like slow molasses or warm honey, poured over Oliver

"This whole thing," Olli mumbled

"Why?" Rob asked softly, "Because of Christian? Tell me, where is Christian now Olli?

Olli didn't answer, just the slide of Rob's fingertips along his forearm had him shaking inexplicably. He swallowed thickly when Rob slid over to his side of the table, their hands still touching. Rob leaned into Olli and softly kissed his neck, and Olli shivered at the touch of those silk soft lips and the rough stubble against his sensitive skin.

"I'm here, and you're obviously hurting, Olli." Rob continued, his hand still following the pale veins in Olli's hand as his thumbs traced senseless maddening patterns on the thin skin of Olli's wrist.

"It's because of him isn't it Olli? It's because of Christian. It's no coincidence that he's not here, is it? And that's why you're so sad again."

Olli shook his head no and tried to shift away from Robert, to put a little space between them. Maybe it was the alcohol or the lateness of the hour, but he was having trouble thinking clearly. Rob only followed, pressing himself closer to Olli in the seclusion of the booth.

"How could he do this to you?" Rob sighed against Olli's ear, nuzzling it, placing almost- kisses along the outer edge before painting Olli's skin with his tongue.

"God, how could anyone walk away from you? You're amazing, incredible. You make me insane. He doesn't know what he's got."

Olli was about to correct him, but his brain shut down when he felt Rob unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt, his hand reaching in to caress the short soft hairs above Olli's belt line. Olli began hardening immediately when Rob lightly tugged at them, his tongue and teeth moving to trace and nip at the outline of Olli's jaw.

"Doesn't that feel better?" Rob asked as he undid more buttons from the bottom to push his hand further up Olli's feverish torso and run the pad of his thumb over Olli's nipple. Olli distantly heard himself squeak in reply, and he couldn't stop himself from sliding a little lower, grabbing at Rob's thigh for leverage as that same heated hand slid back down to lightly palm Olli's sex through the fabric of his dress pants.

"You were made to be worshipped," Rob whispered as he sought out the little sensitive spot behind Olli's ear that made him go insane. "It's no less than what you deserve."

Olli's head lolled from side to side, his mouth opening and closing in silent gasps and pants and he was sure he was going to pass out if Rob didn't stop doing that to his ear. When Rob started to slowly pull the zipper down around his swollen flesh and ease his fingers inside, Olli wanted nothing more than to push himself into Rob's confident grip and let go. His hips were circling slowly, searching for friction and he didn't try to suppress the satisfied moan that crept out of him. But at Rob's answering sigh of pleasure Olli's eyes flew open and he grabbed reflexively at Rob's wrist. The reality of the situation crashed into him then, the ignominy of getting a hand-job in the middle of his own bar by a man who wasn't even his lover. No, he couldn't do that. That was the Olli of years past, the sad itinerant stray who claimed and was claimed by nothing**. **He started straightening himself out, twisting away from Rob, his breath harsh and uneven.

"Rob, no. You've got to-"

Before he could finish scolding Rob, he was distracted by a little high pitched yelp, a flash of black hair and glossy red fingernails accompanied by deep throaty laughter.

Shit.

Lena.

Behind the counter, with his waitress.

Shit!

He hastily zipped his fly and buttoned his shirt and raced over. He'd made a promise to himself to look out for all the wait staff while Lena was in attendance, and it seemed as though tonight she'd zeroed her focus in on the petite and perky Miriam. Lena had her cornered and was smiling down at the pretty blonde when Olli arrived.

"Sabel," she purred, "Come to join the real party?"

"What they hell do you think you're doing to my employee, Lena?"

"If you insist on knowing Oliver I wanted to know if she wanted to come back to my apartment and look at a Georgia O'keefe. Maybe go for some sushi? Eh, Miriam? first hand." She gently stroked the side of Miriam's face as the young blonde blushed a deep red.

"Ol-Olli. Um. It's ok," Miriam stammered, her eyes darting between Olli and Lena.

Olli's jaw dropped in shock as he watched Miriam flash Lena a shy smile.

"See Olli? Miri says it's ok. Read her lips, I know I will." Lena turned a Cheshire cat grin toward Oliver.

"Lena, love, can't you behave yourself for one second? You're killing the mood." Olli hadn't realized that Rob had crept up behind him, but suddenly he felt the heat of Rob's hand lingering at the small of his back in a way that was somehow more obscene than what they'd just been doing in the dark booth.

"Glass Houses Marenbach, glass houses." Lena hadn't even bothered to spare Rob a glance, she was too busy toying with the pendant hanging at Miriam's chest.

"Miriam, are you sure it's ok?" Olli asked puzzled and concerned by his waitress' sudden…versatility.

"Yeah. I can handle it."

He placed a concerned hand on her shoulder and whispered "Be careful."

She glanced at him, then Rob and smiled sadly, "I should say the same to you Olli" Miriam answered, gazing at her boss pointedly, before turning her attention back to Lena who had moved on from the necklace and started lightly skimming her fingers over the small column of Miriam's neck.

He watched for a bit, dumbfounded, as they continued to flirt then turned and swept past Rob and out the entrance for some fresh air. The world, as he knew it, Olli realized, was several different kinds of fucked up, and the chance was quite good, that he had started it.

After a moment Rob joined him outside, and they stood in silence facing each other, with Olli stoically refusing to meet his penetrating gaze.

"Olli," Rob began softly. "When are you going to let yourself live?"

"I'm living just fine, Robert." Olli answered, his hands running tiredly over his face.

"You could be better, if you would just, let it all go, Olli." Rob's fingertips were in his hair and Olli stepped away irritated at his own reaction.

"All this pressure you put on yourself, about what you should and shouldn't do. What has it gotten you?"

"I think I'd be better if _you_ go, O.K.?"

Olli watched Robert heave a sigh, and watched as his mouth twisted into a wry little smile.

"All right Oliver. Whatever you want." He smirked and reached out to brush his fingers against Olli's.

"Whenever you want."

Olli watched Rob walk into the night as his words fed the uncertainty festering inside him.

He could tell things were nowhere close to quieting down, and he was nowhere near any state where he could handle it, so he left the party in Luca's capable hands and made his way up to the dark quiet of his Christian-less flat.

Upstairs, he watched the lights of the city dance on the wall and remembered one of the last times he'd spent a sleepless night in the dark of the living room, the night he'd first admitted to Christian how he felt. The turmoil had twisted him out of sleep, and no amount of beer or one night stands could ease what had ailed him, though he had tried, God how he'd tried. Christian - distant and impossible and a dream that improbably had come true. What was he supposed to do now, though, that his dream had escaped. And how many times would he find himself here because of Christian? How many more times would he be willing to? He stared at his phone. Maybe it didn't matter. Wherever he ended up because of Christian, or for Christian, it would be ok? Wouldn't it? It would be worth it. It had to be.

He dialed the familiar line, and was shocked into silence when he heard something other than a dial tone or a voicemail.

"Christian? Christian?" Olli's voice cracked with incredulity. But Christian wasn't answering, he was silent on the other end of the line. Olli forged ahead anyway.

"Christian, I'm lost without you, I need you, please just come home. This is killing slowly, me and we need to fix it." Oliver listened intently for any indication, any sound from Christian but could barely make anything out from the other end.

"When I was a little younger, I used to make fun of my friends who were in relationships. I swore to myself that that would never be me, that I'd always keep it light and easy. And no one could touch me Christian, it was a foolproof system, even if I did hurt some people along the way. Then I met you, and I realized, I don't want light and easy, and God knows I haven't gotten that with you, but I don't want to go back to the way I was. You're my heart Christian, I found my heart because of you. Please, I don't want to lose it."

Oliver sat waiting, he didn't know what for, maybe for the earth to swallow him up. He didn't know where those things he'd said had come from, but he knew the truth of them the way a rooster knows the sunshine, deep, ingrained. He held his breath, absently wiping away the moisture at the corner of his eyes, and waited.

And he waited.

The only answer was Christian's shaky strained breathing, then a loud insistent dial tone.

* * *

When Andi came home a few hours later, the apartment was still dark and Olli was staring at his cell phone blankly, barely breathing, barely blinking.

"Olli? Dude, what are you doing?"

He was distantly aware of a question being asked, but he wasn't sure what Andi was saying. He decided to answer as best he could.

"There was a time, you know, when I could have had anyone I wanted. Don't believe them, about absolute power. I had it once, and I used it and I liked it, but it's been so long. I'm not him anymore. I hardly know how to do that anymore," he murmured to himself.

"And now for the first time in a long time, someone I want doesn't want me. " Olli's laughter was dark and mirthless. "Jesus. Is this karma?"

Olli groaned then, a long deep anguished sound snapped Andi out of his frightened inaction and brought him running over.

"What are you talking about? Olli, what the hell is going on, man? You're freaking me out, you look awful."

He slowly came to realize the grip on his arms and the fear marring Andi's features. He didn't want to scare his friend, he'd done enough damage already. He shook himself free from Andi's grip and put together a smile from the tatters of his calm.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, I'm just kind of beat from the party." He watched as the tension bled from Andi, and he rose from the couch so his friend wouldn't see his face crumple, walking slowly to the kitchen to pretend at making coffee, at being useful, at being wanted.

"Oh, man no wonder. It's still going strong down there, and not to rat out your waitress, but I think Miriam was about to get it on with this HOT freaking chick."

Andi shook his head once as though to clear away the distracting image.

"Anyway hot chick said your buddy Rob forgot this." Andi walked over and handed him the small leather bound agenda book."Evidently he called about an hour ago and he can't come get it because he's drunk. He's got a 6:30 call with some people in Tokyo or something? I don't know some business shit or whatever, long story short, she wanted to know if you would drive it over, since she was obviously occupied."

Olli held the leather in his hand, It was cool and smooth and he pressed it to his hot tear-stained cheek to get some relief.

"Olli? You feeling ok? I mean, I can drive it over for you if you want, I'm pretty beat but I know you had a big shindig tonight so …"

Olli was hardly listening. He was staring so intently at the little agenda book, and in his mind he could hear the harsh echo of Christian's voice, forcing, begging demanding that he leave him alone. And then, today, that dial tone, after he'd bared his very soul. He felt very strange, like something was slamming shut inside of him. And he had no key to open it again., He was still locked out. All he had was a little blue agenda book and a vague unsettling feeling of inevitable, quiet hopelessness.

"No." Olli answered quietly. "I'll do it. I'll go."

He brushed past Andi without even a backward glance, grabbed his keys off the dining room table and walked out of the flat-share into the cool of the night.

* * *

Review? Bitte Und Danke.


	7. Violation

**Violation**

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* * *

**

The drive over is uneventful and Olli's mind is peacefully, blessedly, deceptively, blank. He does not have this often, but when he is behind the wheel of a car, the straightforward simplicity of a humming whirring engine, and the warm breeze of Dusseldorf in the pre-dawn air - no thinking, no talking - just an errand and a destination; It calms him. And things are rarely this simple anymore.

He hasn't felt this in a long time, the last most notable instance being when he forced himself on Christian in the boxing club. Part of him knows what usually happens, when he makes himself forget what is important or what is right and just allows himself to do – and rarely, if ever, is it something good. Really the only time his impulsivity has benefited him is when it comes to Christian. But the part that keeps catalogue of these things is largely silent as he merges on to the expressway, shifting the gear from first to second. He ignores the fact that everything he's doing tonight, everything he's done almost from the moment he landed in Dusseldorf has been because of Christian. There was a time when that was enough. He presses his foot down hard on the pedal. There was a time when he was enough. His eyes burn and he grips the wheel harder. Olli is tired, and he needs something as simple as that to hold on to against the tectonic shift of his thoughts. Right now it's a steering wheel and small blue book, but soon it will be more.

He rings the bell, running a shaking hand along the smooth blue leather of the book. It is small, compact, and portable. Rob always teases him because of his beloved donut binder, which is decidedly none of these things. But Rob doesn't understand that Olli likes keeping things contained, everything bound in its own place. No Limits business in the donut binder, in the flat share on the shelf. It is dependable, if one could call it that, and not subject to flux; like this book, or like hearts. And it is always there and distinct from his personal things. Easier to control that way - except the system failed, and the pages of Olli's life are spilling out the sides and he doesn't know anymore what to do to put them in order.

The door clicks open and he looks up as Rob greets him, barefoot and dressed only in the fitted black slacks he'd worn at the party.

"Oliver? What are you doing here?" Olli is momentarily distracted from answering by the pale pale white of Rob's torso and a little insidious part of him wants to confirm whether or not Robert tastes like crème fraîche.

"Your book." He finally stammers quietly, waving it in Rob's face.

"Oh. I thought Lena was going to bring it, but I'm really glad it's you." Rob answers, reaching for the book in Olli's outstretched hand. Their fingers touch, and Olli feels his breath hitch a little. Rob is moving closer, his other hand on Olli's wrist pulling slightly, pulling closer.

"Lena was kind of busy," Olli answers trying to look anywhere but at his wrist in Rob's hand, trying to remember why it is he can't pull away go back into his car and back to his home. There is nothing to return to.

"With Miri?" Rob is speaking so low that Olli has to lean in to catch what he says, and the instant he does he knows he's miscalculated because Rob has pulled him into the apartment fully now, and the door is locked behind them. This is faster than anticipated.

Rob throws the agenda book on to a nearby end table, and turns back to Oliver, his blue-gray eyes searching and questioning even as his body presses Olli against the door.

"Oliver." One hand is on Oliver's waist, drawing him in slowly, as the other traces up Olli's arm, shoulder and neck, to rest at the back of Olli's head and pull him in for a light kiss. His lips are much softer than his grip at Olli's waist. And it's this gentleness that undoes Olli, the shock of sweetness before the depraved eroticism of Rob's tongue sliding against his own. Olli is ashamed and excited that that's all it takes, and the shame feeds into the excitement, feeds into his desire and sets his pulse pounding and his cock throbbing.

Rob kisses him again, and again sighing each time, as though Olli's taste is the deliverance he's been waiting for for so long. And it is too sweet too much like love, and what has love gotten Olli so far? He doesn't need anymore of that, he wouldn't know what to do with it anymore anyway. He doesn't want love, he wants its opposite, because anymore of this, anymore reminders and he will lose himself completely, because in his heart the sweet kisses and soft touches are for Christian, he only sighs like this for Christian. His Christian - who opens him with whispers and shatters him with silence. He breaks away with a ragged gasp, but Rob's hold is sturdy and only clutches him tighter.

"Oliver," He says, leaning his forehead against Olli's, "I can't just let you run away this time. It might kill me." He chuckles and for the first time it is without mirth. Olli nods silently, not even daring to open his eyes. Rob's breath is minty, no trace of the supposedly debilitating alcohol. Olli finds he doesn't much mind the deception, in truth, he is thankful for the flimsy excuse. He waits an eternity as Rob's heat bleeds into him, everything intensified, their mutual aching lengths slowly rubbing, their short shallow breaths intermingling. Olli understands, suddenly, why boxers in the middle of fight will cling to each other tightly, as he cleaves to Rob, trying to stave off his emotional exhaustion. He is tired of fighting, fighting with Christian, fighting against Rob and fighting himself. The combination of want, need and despair will fell him if he doesn't affix himself to something. Rob's lips are resting lightly on his, waiting and barely there, but Oliver can feel how tense the chorded muscles under his fingertips are. He slides a hand over milk white skin, and Rob shivers in response and God it's confusing, and arousing and addicting to feel this minute loss of control in the other man. When he finally opens his eyes again, Rob sees, understands and lightening strike quick, it begins.

Rob's knee nudges his legs apart and Olli rubs himself shamelessly, wantonly against the tensed muscle of Rob's thigh. He doesn't know what to do with his hands as they push-pull him away and in. Rob's breath is hot against Olli's ear and it wrenches a low moan from his traitorous throat. Olli isn't sure if he's going to make it any further tonight, he is dizzy and his heart is aching and he knows now that he's never fully reckoned with the man in front of him - and he doesn't know if he can.

Hands pull him closer and for a terrifying moment it's like drowning. Instead of oxygen his nostrils are flaring with Rob's musk and his head is swimming. He needs something; he needs help, needs to hang on to something solid and tangible before he sinks. And Rob is giving it to him, ripping his shirt and pressing his entire body against Olli's - hot, solid and uncompromising in his lust. Olli is startled into sound again at the gentle pricking of Rob's chest hair against his own smooth torso. The clatter of his buttons on the floor is hazy and indistinct in his ears because Rob's mouth is busy at the base of his throat, at the spot where he first tasted Olli. The memory by itself is enough to make Olli clutch harder and press his hips forward, his senses going haywire at the cool of the door behind him and Rob's immolating form in front. Rob is growling now, as he works his way up Olli's throat, his tongue fast and wicked over the column of Olli's neck, breathing in short panting bursts. When he bites down – almost too hard -and grinds his cock into Olli even harder, Olli responds by throwing his head back moaning continuously, his gut fluttering at the knowledgeable fingers on his scalp and insistent stabs of Rob's prick against his belly, Without knowing, without thinking his hand is already on it, massaging and squeezing, and Rob whimpers, an honest to God whimper against his neck - and the thrill is more than it should be. He is making Rob shudder, controlling him, turning him on but it's still not enough. Olli reaches the other hand down to undo the expensive slacks, but it's so hard to concentrate with Rob sucking at his neck like this, and with the unbearable pressure building at his center.

He is much more considerate and gentle with Rob's pants than Rob was with his shirt. And Olli stays gentle - until he wraps his hands around Rob's rigid length, pumping furiously and a little drunk from the feeling and the heat as they rock together, locked in lust.

"Olli - mein gott- yes . . ." Rob whispers just before his mouth descends on Olli's, and the drowning feeling is back, but Olli's only lifelines are the sweet tongue licking into his mouth and the hard cock, twitching and already slick in his hands. The only things keeping him from falling are Rob's fingers in his scalp and the intractable band of his arm behind Olli's back as he grunts in time to Olli's sure even strokes.

One hand slips from his hair to work its way down, scratching here, pinching a nipple there, sliding down Olli's quaking stomach and when it finally reaches into Olli's pants, Olli breaks the kiss. It's too much, he's already so so close. His jaw is slack and he can't even make proper sounds because Rob's rough thumb is lazily circling his cock-head, massaging his weeping slit, sliding wetly along his shaft and it feels like he's breaking apart so he does the only thing he can. He clutches harder, buries his face in Rob's neck and whines softly waiting for it all to end.

And it does. Rob slides his hands out and puts them on either side of his face. Olli resolutely refuses to look at him, keeps his eyes shut tight, because Olli knows what he must look like. Weak, and flushed and wanting – he doesn't need to see Rob knowing that, doesn't want to see the triumph of his surrender reflected in Robert's eyes. The awe and the gratitude to which he is normally accustomed will be absent, replaced with something earthier and sure. They both knew it was coming to this.

"Come with me." Rob whispers against his ear before kissing him, and Olli catches the tart taste of apples again. When Rob pulls away he does open his eyes. And when Rob looks at him expectantly, he can only nod his head yes.

"My shirt." Olli says numbly, realizing the extent of the ruin.

Rob slides it off to join the scattered buttons on the ground, and pushes against Olli's lips, opening them to steal his breath and exploring Oliver's willing mouth with his tongue. This lentissimo kiss is worse than his fervency before, and Olli feels like a piece of paper singed and curling in a fire of their shared making. Rob takes Olli's hand out of his pants, and Oliver, blushing, realizes he never let go of Robert's dick. Rob clasps the hand tight in his and turns toward the bedroom, and Olli follows his Virgil through the dark wood of his own desire.

The bed is soft, and Rob undresses him with the same concentrated devotion he gave to Olli's fingers earlier, and the rustle of their clothes as they hit the floor has a ring of finality Olli can't ignore. He is close to bolting then, close to fleeing into the night but Rob is on top of him, sinuously strong, tasting, and teasing. Every kiss, every bite beckoning Oliver further down the rabbit hole as he lets Rob sample every inch of his body. The world collapses into a singularity, the center of which is the hot wet heat of Rob's mouth closing around his cock, and Olli reaches automatically to thread his fingers through the reddish-blonde hair. He wants more, he can't get deep enough into Rob's waiting throat, and his satisfied hums are taking Olli into dangerous territory as he slams his hips up to push further into that cocoon of warmth. The former psychology student in him is suddenly absurdly grateful for oral fixations, and all of him is grateful when Rob swallows around the head of his cock, so tight, so wet, so good, so distracting; nearly distracting enough to make Olli forget.

He tries to warn Rob that he's about to shoot, but Rob knows and he pulls off, the wet pop and slide from his throat and mouth is almost enough to trigger Olli – almost, and he spits angry curses at Rob, who only laughs, and bends Olli's legs back into his chest so he can open Olli and taste the puckered flesh at his entrance. The curses slip into sighs and moans, and he's begging Rob to keep tasting him there, even though he's pushing Rob away, trying to get a hold of his uncontrollable reactions. He's unused to this, no amount of wheedling could ever convince Christian to do this, all of this. But Rob's hands are strong and they are pulling Olli apart exposing him, breaking him down and there's nothing left to hide anymore as he fucks himself on Rob's tongue whining for more as his cock jerks and twitches, his hands desperately twining in the sheets, the hot precum gathering on his belly. And Rob is watching, his eyes feral and greedy on Olli's cock, his hands skimming and scratching and finally his fingers scissoring Olli open. And when he touches the hard nub inside - his fingers insistent and circling, Olli arches up off the bed, his vision whiting out.

"Don't stop." Olli whispers desperately over and over. He can't afford to stop, he cannot let himself remember, instead he lets himself get dizzy with the feeling, focusing on how slick and loose Rob's tongue is making him, how fire races up his spine when he nips and sucks at the wrinkled skin.

"Fuck me, please, please just-, now, please!" Olli is begging for it, desperate and almost crying because even after all this, it's not quite enough to temper the agony of his broken heart, and he can still hear the dial tone, and the all pervading absence is demanding to be filled in any way it can.

"God, just fuck me now." Olli can barely say it through the lump in his throat and the steadily climbing heat at his center.

Rob does not need to be told again.

Rob draws him up, and pulls him back, arching Olli's body against his, taut and curved like a bow string, his own sex the arrow, even as he is pierced by Rob's. Olli's back is flush against Rob's chest and he throws his head back against Rob's shoulder, his eyes shut tight, and his mouth soundlessly gaping, spit slicked and red as Rob's cock sinks into his slippery waiting hole. This, this is what he came for, their desire made manifest, an affirmation and the forgetting of everything but the demands of his body.

Rob's hands are sliding over Olli's pliant body, and Olli is pushing back, trying to match Rob's punishing rhythm gasping when Rob bites his neck and pushes him back down to the mattress, his arms tight and secure around Olli, holding him in place keeping him still as he thrusts into him. Olli is almost perfectly immobilized by Rob, and he bites and licks at the fingers in front of his mouth holding his face still, chasing the stimulation rubbing himself into the mattress to send himself over the edge.

Suddenly the dizzy feeling is back when Rob turns him around and lays him on his back, and impossibly it's better and Olli's noises start to mount in pitch and volume, a string of breathless 'nos' flowing heedlessly from his lips, because he's close, and this can't end, he's made no plans for afterward and he's afraid his memories will continue to torment him when it's all done. His scalp is tingling and his chest is tight and he is shaking partly from arousal, partly from fear.

"Shh Shh, be quiet " Rob says softly even as his cock pistons in and out of Olli's hungry ass, making the request impossible.

"Just look at me." he punctuates every word with a thrust of his thick thick prick and Olli can't believe how much he wants to do as he's told, but Rob seems to have unerringly honed in on his prostate and is making it difficult to comply. Olli has to settle for breathing harshly and making tiny mewling noises in his throat as Rob pushes into him and he nods his head yes, unable to look away from the pale blue eyes above him, searching futilely for something familiar, something he's lost.

"Fuck, Olli! God." Rob whispers before diving onto Olli's open and wanting mouth. When Olli feels his chest burning for air Rob finally let releases it and leans in so that he can whisper raggedly right into Olli's ear.

"So sweet, and tight.. God Olli, so good…God."

And Olli wants to answer him, but he's been instructed to keep quiet, and for the first time in a long time he really is speechless - so he bites down on Rob's shoulder instead whimpering softly at every welcome intrusion, locking his legs around Robert's waist and carding his fingers through the silk soft hair, not as thick, but for now, enough, just for now.

Rob is rocking him into sweet oblivion and Olli is entranced, watching the flush creep over Rob, the sweat beading at his temple. It is different. He is different, and Olli can't look anymore he can't be a party to this, can't witness it, so he closes his eyes. It's what he asked for, what he needed, and if he reminds himself of this enough, if he just focuses on this indescribable pleasure, he'll forget everything else, like the fact that he has nothing left to remember, that all he has is this. The sweat sliding between their bodies, Rob's too - low baritone grunts, the odd thickness of his cock inside and the hollowness that Olli fears will be his constant companion from now on.

"Stay with me baby, say my name, Olli" Rob grunts.

Olli has to refuse, shake his head no because he can't give that to him, he can't. He's already giving up so much, and if it's odd to retain one's pride while flat on one's back, it doesn't occur to Olli. He only knows he will not easily give Rob the satisfaction his ego demands. Olli digs his nails hard into Rob's back and pulls him closer, arching his body and shuddering at the downy soft hair roughly brushing his prick with every twitch of Rob's hips. That much he can give him no more.

Rob laughs, quiet and low into Olli's ear and he has to bite back a moan at how the sound goes straight to his dick. He's distracted enough, for a moment, by his own unmanageable desire, that he doesn't realize, at first, that Rob has his hands pinned above him and is slowly pulling out.

His eyes snap open, hot and green, and he looks into the calculating ice of Rob's gaze and begs soundlessly and shamelessly, trying to follow and not lose the feeling of having something, someone, inside. But Rob, deceptively strong, has him trapped, and Olli can feel his cock just beyond his entrance, the heat of it enticing and dangerous.

"Say" Rob slams into him quickly and before Olli can even register how much of it is pleasure and how much is pain he's out again.

"My" The part of Olli's mind, that still deals in sense and consequences knows what's next. But Rob sends the last of Olli's consciousness packing when he spits into his hand and starts roughly palming Olli's leaking cock.

"Name" He pushes in hard again and Olli almost flies off the bed dazed at the speed and control. His mouth is wired open in a soundless scream while Rob viciously rolls his hips over and over and Olli's eyes roll to the back of his head because it's impossible that he could get it in at just the right angle, incredible that his hand could keep up with his punishing pace but he does, and it does and -oh God - Olli cannot stop the alien sound that pours out of him even if he wanted to.

Rob is looking into his eyes again when he feels it. His whole body tenses and quivers and a low growling sound builds in his throat. He looks down at the purple head of his dick in Rob's ivory white hand and thinks something must be wrong because he can't hear anything but a strange rushing noise. But Rob slams him back to sense with one more ruthless thrust and he's tingling all over, and for a fraction of a second he's finally blissfully full, and coming so hard that his body is thrown into silent paroxysms of sweet sweet agony. He sees the thick white streams issuing from his cock, and it's like he's dissolving, most certainly slipping away with only Rob's feral smile to keep him in place. But it's only when his mouth closes around the final part of Rob's name, as his wild shout of completion echoes against the walls and the empty spaces of his heart, and mingles with Rob's own strangled gasp of release - it is only then that Olli realizes that he has, in fact, lost it all.

* * *

Lol why am I even bothering :-/ OH well. for the one or two lonely souls of you following here, Review, bitte und danke.


	8. Condemned

**Condemned.**

My heart burns in flames of sorrow,

Sparks and smoke rise turning to the sky.

-Mhiri Khatun

**

* * *

**

Olli woke up a few hours later, swimming tiredly out of sleep to find Rob watching him silently, cigarette suspended loosely in his lips, an ashtray balanced precariously on the make-shift mountain of his knee and the cool white sheets. Rob said nothing, only gave him a knowing smirk and continued to puff silently on his cigarette. Watching the sunlight glint and shimmer through the slats of the window shade, painting Rob in shining, geometrically even, golden lines, Olli could almost understand. He could almost grasp the alternate reality in which this was just how things were. A reality in which he'd rise and kiss Rob on the lips or take him into his mouth and afterwards, at the breakfast table, they'd laugh together and talk about nothing, their voices low, their bodies sated. Maybe even make plans for the business, the air alight with sunshine and possibilities.

It was a perfect sliver of guilt -free clarity, that dissipated as he watched the cigarette smoke curls whispering out from between Robert's lips - a sanskrit secret language of Olli's broken promises. One that Rob, with the dedication of an archeologist, had helped him unearth. Olli turned away, cataloguing the bone deep fatigue of his muscles and the strangeness of silken sheets that held fragments of the wrong scent. He was tempted, badly, to ask for a smoke. It had been years and years since he'd tasted one. And what was the harm in one more violation? Who was keeping track anyway? Instead he turned his head to the side, pulling slightly at a loosened thread in the pillowcase, ignoring this baser craving.

Olli had had a nearly a pack a day habit when he'd returned to Dusseldorf. He'd quit cold turkey a few days before Christian's swimming exam. The cause had been simple. Christian had asked him to. It had been after CoCo had left, in that strange heady phase, of certainly more than "just friends" but less than lovers when just hearing Christian's voice, or being anywhere near him had the potential to make Olli embarrass himself - badly.

He'd been sitting on the couch watching a movie, smoking, when Christian had come home from doing a few practice laps around the pool. Olli had pretended not to notice Christian standing in the doorway watching him, had tried to ignore how his fingers went nerveless under that blue scrutiny.

"That'll kill you, you know." Christian had said, his attention never wavering from the lit stick between Olli's lips.

"What? Watching bad television?" Olli had quipped nervously.

"No," Christian had replied easing himself into place next to Olli. "Smoking."

Thinking back on it, Olli remembered being overwhelmed by the hint of too -fresh chlorine and the alluring cool that seemed to waft from his skin. Christian had edged closer, removed the cigarette from Olli's mouth and ashed it out. His eyes had been piercing, his gaze intent and locked on Olli's lips.

"Oh." Olli had answered feeling himself go light-headed at the proximity.

Christian had licked his lips slowly before finally looking Olli in the eye and he'd whispered, "You should quit. I'm sure people want you around, for the long haul." Olli had stared, utterly undone by the slight sheen of moisture on Christian's lower lip, and the rose red heat staining his cheeks.

"People? " It was by the barest of threads that Olli had resisted leaning in to follow the red with his mouth, to see if it was as hot as it looked.

"You know, your family, your friends… people who care about you." Christian had looked away then, flushed and embarrassed, and in that moment Olli was his completely.

"OK." He'd answered. And he'd meant it. He would quit.

It had been a rash decision, and he'd cursed and kicked himself for it later but the clear purity of Christian's smile when he'd said he would do it, the warmth of his hand lingering just a touch too long on Olli's shoulder in approval; Olli knew he wouldn't touch a cigarette again. He'd substituted them for a new addiction.

They had stammered their way out of the awkwardness then, with forced laughter and ill - disguised discomfort at the fulgent heavy want that hung between them. But that remembered warmth at Christian's beautiful and oddly gentle hands, had continued to plague Olli ruthlessly until they'd ended up in bed. And it had been his touchstone when they were together. And Olli had found then that it wasn't so hard to replace his morning cigarette with the taste of Christian's sleep –warmed skin, or to turn his face into the stomach he'd been using as a pillow all night and breathe him in, better than nicotine, better than everything, and filling something deep inside him that Olli had been scared of for a long time. Those were the best mornings.

Were.

It echoed cruelly. He wasn't supposed to be a "were." He'd gotten so used to an "us" or "them" or a rushed breath of "christianandolli." Not so anymore. The pillow thread snapped in his grasp and he shut his eyes against the image of the ragged forlorn string - adrift and unnecessary. He flinched out of his reverie when Rob ran a possessive hand down his flank and pressed a kiss to the bite mark on Olli's shoulder, the clammy reality of the appendage intruding and unwelcome.

"Morgen," Rob 's voice was smoky, roughened with recent sleep, and it sounded to Olli so incredibly old – a voice that spoke of a lifetime of fulfilled vices, and nights full of faceless clinging, reckless forms.

" I was waiting for you to wake up. I thought I'd worn you out. Can I get you something? Coffee? Something warmer?" Olli could feel Rob's smile against his neck, and he squirmed away from the sudden bite on his earlobe. He halted Rob's wandering hand from slipping beneath the sheet.

" I'm fine." Olli answered, wincing as he sat up, and noting with a mild detached interest, the crop of new aches that arose from his movement. And he was, he was fine. He felt calmer and clearer than he had for days – though that wasn't saying much. It was the calm, he knew, of the condemned.

"Yes, you are." Rob replied smoothly, wrapping his arms around Olli's torso, and pressing his irrelevant kisses up the solemn curve of Olli's spine. Olli didn't hide his discomfort, his muscles tensing and taut, protesting in a different way than last night. "Listen,"Rob continued, pressing his lips to the nape of Olli's neck, "My friend has a house on the Rhine. Let's get away for a week. It'll do you some good, no bar, no responsibility. It could be like this all the time. It doesn't really have to be a one time thing, Oliver." He wasn't imagining the slight pleading tone in Rob's voice, and it made him tired all over again. More expectations, more hopes he couldn't live up to.

"Rob, I have to go." Olli said simply. He watched the infinitesimal tightening in Rob's mouth, and saw his eyes go more grey than blue, like the Atlantic in winter. When he'd been on the cruise ship it had been something that never failed to capture his imagination. The color of freedom and fresh possibility, and the expanse of it was unadulterated promise. He didn't know what it meant in Rob's eyes, but to him the shade looked closer to a threat than a promise. He didn't think he could really stand to find out.

"Yes, of course you do." Rob took a last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out, disturbing the mattress with his sudden departure. "How could I think that I'd hold a candle to the inimitable Christian?" he sneered. Olli couldn't look at him anymore because he was asking himself the same thing, hoping that perhaps the answers lay in the whirlwind of sheets bunched at his waist, or the lonely shoe by the bedroom door. He thought it fitting that a piece of his wardrobe was already trying to effect the escape that he so badly wanted now.

"I don't understand you Olli." Rob's voice was quiet again, subdued, as he crossed to stand in front of Olli, unadorned and unabashed in his curiosity. "Well, I didn't used to, anyway. Letting yourself go crazy for one person like that." Rob sank to his knees, his touch tremulous and unsure on Olli's thigh. "He's just a man, you know that right? He's not even a very special or very smart man. You could have anyone you wanted and you deserve better than mediocre," he whispered. "Let me be the one to give it to you."

He clutched, almost painfully, at Olli, as though his fingertips contained some elemental truth that Olli could only absorb through the strained and shaking muscle of his thigh. "He's not worth it, not like-" Olli caught the overly confident hand – too small, too pale - that had reached up to touch his cheek and put it back down on the bed gently.

"Rob, just don't. Ok? I know exactly what he's worth, and it's more than you could ever understand." They sat for a moment, in a silence thick and oppressive, bound together in remembered sin. Olli pushed his way out of Rob's grip to collect his slacks off the floor, corral his wayward shoes and his belt, just to keep moving, keep going.

"Olli."

"Yes?" He whispered quietly, his hand tensing on the knob of the bathroom door.

"You're going to need a shirt."

Olli bowed his head briefly, still refusing to look as Rob rummaged in his dresser to find a shirt small enough for Olli. He nodded, wordlessly, noting the nothing in himself when his fingers grazed Rob's across the fabric of the t-shirt. He looked up then, meeting those cloud- strewn Atlantic eyes and murmured a wordless apology with his own.

Rob smiled, a sad quiet curve, and pressed his lips briefly to Olli's, in what had to be one of the most chaste and understanding kisses he'd ever received in his life. "Thanks." Olli said, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

When he left the room, finally, pointedly ignoring the still rumpled bed, he was freshly showered and in possession of three aspirin tablets purloined from Rob's medicine cabinet. The part of him that still remembered Henriette's incessant etiquette lessons quailed at the thought of leaving his host without saying anything at all. But his stride was purposeful, though the keys in his hand shook badly and he dropped them in his rush to the front door. Rob swooped in silent and efficient as ever to scoop them off the ground before Olli could.

"You look good in that shirt." Rob purred, dangling the keys in front of Olli and stepping closer.

"I'll, get it back to you as soon as I can –"

"Keep it." Rob answered, slipping the keys into Olli's hand and pulling him in by the hem for a last hug.

His stubble was eerily soft against Olli's neck, but his voice was rough and his arms strong.

"You'd better go. Smelling my soap on your skin, seeing you in my clothes." He skimmed his tongue over a pulse point at the base of Olli's throat and took a deep breath. "It's making me want things you can't give." Olli pushed his way out of Rob's arms, intent on having the next thing he touched be the doorknob on his way out.

"Goodbye Rob." He said, without turning.

"Tchuess, Schatz."

He looked at the blue agenda book on the side table, looked at Rob, and walked out.

* * *

It was early, still, and that was something else to reacquaint himself with, the morning after. Oh there had been mornings after, before - times when he'd sailed into Schneider's freshly fucked, grinning and guilt free. But it was different this time, and odd to face the lazy remnants of dawn, the air thick and crawling strangely over his skin as every step brought sense memory into sharp relief and ghostly hands reached to touch that spot on the back of his thigh, or the little divot at the base of his spine. It vexed him to the point of madness. He needed to get home, burn the clothes, scald and gouge his tainted skin until he was pink and new again. He didn't know if it would stop his stomach from trying to crawl out through his throat, or if it would soothe his aching head, but it would be something.

Andi wasn't there to greet him and for a second he was absurdly grateful to be alone, until he saw the pristine neatness of his bed. It hit him like the trumpet blasts on the walls of Jericho, and with a soft agonized moan, Olli crumbled, felled by faithlessness. He flung his clothes aside haphazardly, the movements jerky and strange, his chest full of strange hitching breaths and his head full of searing pain. He crawled into green sheets, and curled in on himself, facing Christian's side. He grabbed at the blazer on the floor and popped two aspirin tablets and stared mindlessly at the wall of pictures in front of him. He'd have to consign himself to a two dimensional Christian now, one that inhabited the less than perfect spaces of his memory, because he wasn't back. He knew now that he'd thought that somehow acting out, doing exactly the wrong thing might somehow summon him away from Waldenstyck, that his well placed wrath would be preferable to this silence. He'd been wrong. He'd wanted to feel, but not like this, never like this.

He closed his eyes trying to block out the light hitting his face; it made him feel odd and jittery, and did nothing for his head. He launched out of bed to shut the shades, and accidentally knocked things over from the desk because his limbs felt gelatinous and funny. Although his eyes felt a little better now, in the dark, less like they were trying to rattle around in his sockets. Yet his legs seemed to have lost all sense, and he ended up tripping over Erwin, who squawked his resentment at Olli's ungainly sprawl.

It was better to sit there for a moment, against the cool panes of the window, to put a little distance between himself and those pictures on the far wall, he and Christian smiling and laughing and fake. On an abstract level Olli could see how it was sort of funny, him, sitting on the floor with a chicken in his hands staring at pictures of his past. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of someone finding him like this, but he couldn't be bothered to move. Somehow it felt so right to just be so still, it almost felt good. And his head wasn't as painful now, but he was feeling a little hot and strange and sort of oddly floating. He pressed his back more fully into the cold glass, to ground him, to draw some of that enticing chill into his body. He was wrong, it wasn't almost good - it was perfect. The window was so smooth and cool, and he'd never noticed before but Erwin was ridiculously soft. He brought the plush toy to his face, rubbing his cheek along the downy softness and moaning quietly at the decadent feel against his skin. Maybe, he thought, he'd been over thinking things, maybe this was what life was all about, the simple pleasures.

Sweat started to stream down his skin and he gasped in shock, his eyes sliding shut at the ripples of sensation that coursed through him, when he ran a hand along his forehead to slick away the moisture. He wanted more of that, he'd had so little of feeling good lately, and the pleasure racing through him at his own hands was breathtaking. He traced the contours of a taut and straining nipple, gasping as his hips twitched up and down of their own accord. The floor was starting to feel too hard, so he stumbled to the bed, but the sheets were too scratchy and he didn't want to lose this incredible feeling so he stripped the sheets off laughing in wonder as they took to the air and fluttered slowly to the ground. He would have to do that again, later. The bare mattress was sturdy and sleek against him and he moaned wantonly rutting against it as his fingers tensed and flexed, every movement every stray puff of air utterly wrecking him with feeling. He was close, so close. He turned his head to look at the picture of he and Christian at Lydia's wedding, and when he remembered what they'd done that night, how Christian had tied him up and fucked him within an inch of his life, he shut his eyes and the orgasm roared out of him mercilessly, his cock flushed and spurting as he whimpered and wailed from the force of it.

For hours Olli rode the waves of his high, inelegant and distantly aware that something was off but not wanting to investigate exactly why he was feeling so perfect and right, even without Christian. He just wanted to preserve the loveliness of this, the rightness of his own skin and his perpetual suspension of joy. When he'd finally exhausted his body and Christian's punching bag he slumped bonelessly into a dreamless sleep, his pupils still dilated, his face swathed in a warm soft smile.

* * *

It was the fire in his throat that dragged Olli, kicking and screaming, into wakefulness. The room was in shambles, and Oliver simply didn't have the heart to straighten up. He barely had the will to get himself a cup of water, but he stood anyway, not even bothering to pull on his boxers. Besides, it wasn't anything Andi hadn't seen already, and he didn't find he cared much about anything at the moment.

The evening was waning already, and normally Olli loved this time of day. From their apartment they could just about make out the Rheinturm and when it got dark enough he and Christian would stand and watch the time changing on the tower, drinking wine and talking quietly together about nothing and everything. Tonight Olli couldn't make anything out; his eyes were too full of tears and stinging. He put his cup down and leaned heavily on the counter trying to breathe his way through the despondency ruthlessly choking him. He couldn't ever remember feeling this bad. It was worse than Milo Schraegmann kissing him in the coat closet then beating him up in front of everyone at school, worse than Henriette turning her back on him, worse even than Christian threatening to kick his ass after he'd kissed him in the boxing club. Anger, confusion and hurt were forming a treacherous cocktail inside him, and he cradled his head in his hands, wondering idly if the knives in the drawer were sharp enough to get it out. That line of reason faded a little at click in the doorway. Hoping Andi or David would just leave him alone, that they'd ignore the broken man in the kitchen, Olli didn't bother turning around.

But he had no such luck, as quiet tentative footsteps approached him, and strong tanned arms enveloped him and pulled him close. He knew that smell, that voice whispering at him and shushing him, and the hands brushing aside the tears he hadn't realized were already falling out of his eyes. Christian.

"Olli, shh, it's ok, it's ok, calm down."

He punched flailed and batted at Christian, for making such a ridiculous suggestion, even as his lips sought Christian's, his body gravitating closer to home than he'd been in weeks.

"Calm down? Calm down?" Olli shouted. "You don't get to tell me to calm down, Christian!" He was still struggling violently, trying to free himself of Christian's hold, to pour more of his indignation into him by any means – hands, lips, teeth or tongue – it didn't matter. But he was tired and his strength, normally greater than Christian's, had long since deserted him, and he sagged uselessly into Christian sobbing soundlessly.

"Oh Olli, I've been an idiot." Christian murmured leading him to the couch.

"Yes." Olli answered venomously. He tried to burrow further into the crook of Christian's neck, something that always made him feel better, but it wasn't working, there was something dark and pernicious inside him now, blocking him off, and he wanted to share it. "Why did you even come back? What happened to not getting hurt again? To letting me go?" Olli moved over to look Christian in the eye and he felt a pang of remorse at the dark circles under Christian's eyes and the stubble lining his normally clean-shaven face.

"I can't Olli, I can't let you go. It was stupid to say that." He stood up then pacing around the living room and pulling at his hair." But I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else Olli. It makes me sick, and angry, and scared. I've been scared this whole time we've been together. That one day you'll realize, that I'm not good enough." Christian said this last part so low, his voice rough and hoarse, with honesty. "And when you told me you kissed him…"

"It _was_ just a kiss." Olli interrupted, feeling sick and low all over again. Where was Christian with this twenty-four hours ago, why hadn't he said all this when Olli had called, when it was still true, when he was still true.

"I know what your kisses are like Oliver. You don't just kiss anyone, let's be honest about that, ok?" His nostrils flared dangerously but his voice was still calm.

"What the hell Christian? I-I make mistakes." Oh God, how he made them. "But I'm not a whore."

"You flirt with everyone!" Christian thundered back, spinning around to face Olli. "And you don't see it like I do but everyone wants you Oliver, _everyone_. Hell when you first moved back even Gregor said he'd fuck you if he had the chance, and I don't think he was kidding Olli. You don't know what it's like, to have everyone trying to take away what belongs-"

"Do you even _hear_ yourself? I don't _belong_ to anyone and I'm not a 'what,' I'm a person, a person who loves you, and a person who you wouldn't even listen to for one second! I don't want anyone else Christian, but I can't be anyone else, it's just the way I am. It's just the way I'm built. Are you ever going to get it? Could you ever accept it?"

Christian moved to stand directly in front of Olli, his head bent. He took Olli's hands in his, circling the pads of his thumbs over Olli's wrists. He stepped closer, and Olli was suddenly awash with his warmth, his scent, grass and sun and something minty and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"I don't know Olli, but will you stay with me while I try?"

"Christian there's something-"

"Please Olli? Please." Christian whispered his plea against Olli's lips, and Olli was gone he'd been opening his mouth to say 'yes' to say anything that would keep Christian right there with their tongues sliding, and his hands wandering all over Olli's naked body to press and skim and unwittingly erase the unwanted traces of Rob's touch, making Olli new again.

"Christian wait." Olli extricated himself from Christian's arms and took a step backward. Undaunted, Christian followed, skimming his nails down Olli's side and smiling crookedly at the goose bumps they produced.

"Why?" Christian asked, pulling Olli closer and biting his collarbone "I've wanted you since I walked in." He pulled back, looking Olli in the eye. "Actually, I've wanted you from the moment I met you." Olli was shocked to see hot tears gathering at the corners of Christian's eyelids, before he found himself pulled into a fierce hug. "I missed you so much Olli," he muttered, "So you kissed him? So what? It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't matter, I'll just, I have to deal. I have to deal." They both pulled back when they heard the doorbell, and Olli ran to the bedroom to grab a bathrobe while Christian walked over to answer the door. He couldn't let himself get distracted again; he knew he'd have to tell Christian, even though it would possibly ruin them both, irreparably. He would just have to deal too.

"Oh. Chris. Hi."

Olli felt hot and cold at the same time, and his guts rioted in protest, while his body broke out in an ice cold sweat. He'd always considered himself lucky, things usually worked out for him. Someone was always there to catch him if he fell. Rob was not standing at the entrance of their apartment to catch anything, and for the first time Olli felt the precipitous rush of everything going wrong at exactly the right time.

"Ah, Oliver, there you are." Olli squirmed at the easy familiarity of Rob's address, but he felt desperately sick at Christian's stiffened posture and clenched fists.

"You forgot your phone at my place, after last night." He wasn't even looking at Oliver as he said this, not even bothering to make it innocuous or innocent for Christian's benefit. He was loading that simple statement with as much selfish iniquity as possible. And here it was, Olli realized, the poison that had been festering in him spilling onto Christian. Olli couldn't look at Christian, he couldn't bear to see the realization when it sunk in, couldn't handle Christian watching the guilt darken his eyes.

"Is he always so loud, Christian, when he comes? I thought about him all day. He tastes so damned good"

Olli heard it before he saw it, and he wasn't fast enough to stop Christian's fist from slamming into Rob's face. He stood in almost a stupor as Christian picked Rob up and shoved him into the wall opposite their door, his face crimson with fury as he cursed and spit at Rob.

"You shut the fuck up you liar!" Christian roared. Despite the blood flow from his nose, which was surely broken, Rob continued, every word honed to a needlepoint of pure pain.

"Oh, and that low grunting sound he makes just before he comes. And the way he shakes and begs. He said my name Chrissie. He screamed it." Rob laughed.

"No!" Christian howled, "No, No, No!" punctuating every word with his fist or his boot.

When Christian pushed Rob down to the ground and jumped on top of him screaming and hitting, the sounds flowing out if him inhuman and agonized. Olli came unstuck and rushed out to try and stop Christian from killing the man. Rob had stopped talking, and had folded himself into the wall, coughing and groaning at every hit that Christian landed. Olli knew if he let this go on for much longer, they'd have a big problem.

Using all of his strength he wrapped his arms around Christian's middle and pulled him off before he could continue kicking Rob's teeth in. Rob rocked back and forth, hunched and shuddering and, incredibly, laughing quietly to himself, and in that moment Olli was staggered by the depths of his monstrosity.

He was unprepared to find himself gripped cruelly by Christian and jammed against the wall, pinned by Christian's hands and his cold malignant gaze. Olli had never seen Christian's eyes dance like this. Olivia had told him that his boyfriend had been half crazed and foaming at the mouth when he'd went to beat Axel with a bat, but Olli had the feeling that that instance had held a fraction of what Christian was feeling now.

"You fucked him?" Christian growled. Olli was unnerved to feel actual fear grow in him as one of Christian's hands moved to his throat. He gaped, petrified and temporarily robbed of speech.

"Did. You. FUCK. Him?" Christian whispered. The question was almost a sigh, a sweet caress of accusation against Olli's lips, but his hand was brutally squeezing Olli's sex on the word "fuck."

"Yes." Olli rasped, not flinching, his eyes locked on Christian, and his heart squeezing painfully in his breast.

And they stood, at this crossroads of violence and sorrow for what seemed like forever, as Olli watched something in Christian die, little by little, a candle in him slowly snuffed out. They mourned it together, slow heavy tears falling to the ground from them both.

Christian nodded, just once, and let go of Olli's throat and his dick. "Rebecca was right about you, " he said, wiping at his eyes. "The both of you, you deserve each other." Christian turned to spit on Rob. He leveled one last malevolent glance at Olli. "I hate you," he whispered, "I'll always hate you for doing this to me." and he walked away, his steps echoing loudly in the flat-share hallway.

Olli sank, numbed and devastated, to the floor beside Rob and stayed there a while, listening to the sickening wheeze of Rob breathing through a broken nose, as his mind hummed with half formed questions and conclusions. Eventually, he crawled over to his phone and dialed 112 for an ambulance, and tried to understand, in vain, the profundity of the silence inside of him.

* * *

For the one or two lonely souls following here, Review, bitte und danke.


	9. The Sentence: Part 1

**The Sentence. **

The paint was peeling, Olli noticed, the dry cracked chips flecking and crashing into the ground. He kept himself still, because maybe if he didn't move too much he could somehow process the heaviness inside, this insidious millstone of guilt, keep it from dragging him down to shatter like the brittle paint. But then, maybe it would be best to let himself drown, seared as he was by the scarlet heat of Christian's anger around his throat. He didn't have the tears anymore, or the energy. All he had was time. Fifteen minutes for the ambulance to come to the flatshare, ten minutes to the hospital, a minute to find a seat and an eternity to get used to the quicksand pull of mourning, filling his bones, scratching at his eyes and crawling over his skin.

He'd wanted to drop Rob off in the care of the hospital staff and leave, slink back to the flat and lose himself in something be it alcohol, Rob's last pill, or his own all pervasive self pity. But the nurses and doctors had surrounded him, asking him questions and making mentions of corroborating a police report. And shit, Olli couldn't go, couldn't have a moment to himself. Even battered and bloody, Rob was still lashing out at Christian, maintaining that he'd been brutally attacked – gay bashed, and proclaiming his false innocence. It made Olli ill. Rob's foul lies tied him to the hospital, where he had to deny everything and protect Christian, he could still feel what he and Rob had done inside of him, felt it like a brand, fresh and stinging. And overlaid on that, the unrelenting ache where Christian had touched him last, a cruel mockery of what he usually felt in Christian's arms.

"Olli! What happened? Oh my God, you look terrible." Rebecca was standing in front of him, arms outstretched and, to Olli's dismay, moving closer her face creased with pity that Olli did not want. "Is it Christian? Did something happen to him?" Her panic was crystal clear and her eyes frantic as she clutched uselessly at her volunteer outfit, visibly upset at the possibility that something was wrong with her friend. And no mistaking it, none of that concern was for him. Christian's words in the hallway came back to him in a rush, and almost too quickly a dozen little details Olli had filed away flew together. The way Rebecca's mouth would twist when he and Christian kissed, how she always averted her eyes when he spoke to her, how she hadn't wanted to go shopping or gossip with him for months – jealousy. All of it. She was jealous and without his knowing it, she'd turned Christian against Olli.

"How long have you been harboring my boyfriend Rebecca?" Olli asked coolly, finding the calm dense center of his white hot rage. But he was also honestly curious and trying to soothe the sting of Christian's parting 'Rebecca was right.' Because he knew, deep in his bones that whatever she'd been feeding Christian hadn't come from a sense of righteousness. It had come from a selfish voracious place of coveting. Olli had known it, had almost surrendered to it before, watching CoCo pull Christian into kisses, pull him farther away from Olli's sweet and awed intimacy. In some ways he understood how Rebecca felt, how the yearning could lure you into cunning and leave you heedless of decency, while you convinced yourself that it was for the greater good, that it was in the name of love. He had avoided it himself, though it had been a narrow thing. But not Rebecca, she'd succumbed and now she wasn't the Rebecca he'd thought he'd known, sweetly loyal and vulnerable. This Rebecca had kept him from Christian whispering seeds of betrayal that he and Rob had tended with cruel and meticulous care.

"Just a few days." He could see she was nervous, but there was still an edge of defiance in her, and he admired that she didn't even try to lie to him. "That first day he was so miserable," Rebecca continued. "It was your fault Olli." Her fingers twisted into cruel fists as she continued, as though the jealousy was trying to crawl out of her extremities, sentient and intent on Olli. "All he talked about was how he couldn't live without you. I tried to make him understand, to make him see the real you but he just wouldn't." Her voice was shrill and the nurses paused briefly to stare, but Olli ignored them, entranced by the cloud of indignation that surrounded her. "He, well, we talked for a long time, a really long time and it was too late for him to go to you. And-and he was tired. Too tired to make the trek to the city. So-so I took care of him. He was basically worn out and babbling, so I put him to sleep. And-and I made sure he wouldn't be disturbed." She paused, her glance darting nervously around the ward, and Olli found himself intensely curious, for once, about what she had to say. She locked eyes with him finally and said in a rush, "I took his phone."

Took. Then Christian hadn't heard, he hadn't known the things that Olli had said, he'd been spilling his soul into emptiness. He didn't realize he'd been stepping closer to her as she rambled about how deftly she'd worked to destroy their faith in each other. She'd been a creeping opportunistic vine of doubt wedging her way into the cracks Olli had put in the otherwise solid wall of their relationship.

He didn't register that his skin was flushed and he was breathing too hard, or that he couldn't even hear Rebecca's smug countess voice now, or that his vision had gone red on the edges. He just knew he'd felt grim satisfaction pressing bruises into her biceps, and dimly it registered that maybe she wasn't talking so much anymore because he was shaking her so soundly.

"Olli! Stop!" A man's voice, intruding through his haze, he pressed harder until he felt large insistent hands on his shoulders. He wheeled around snarling and wounded, ready to snap out and crush whoever was interrupting him, he had rage enough for two, rage enough for thousands if it came to it. But he paused mid-lunge when he found Gregor's hands on his arms, pulling him roughly away from Rebecca. His senses came back to him in a sickening rush, and he found himself thrashing against Gregor's grip for a long time, the buttons stretching and snapping on his shirt, until fatigue stripped the struggle from him.

"You were lying anyway!" Rebecca's voice was shaky but her eyes were still stubborn and defiant. "All that CRAP about him being 'your heart-' you don't know what love is! You're selfish, and he didn't need to hear that, any of that! He deserves better than you." She was scared and seething, her voice pitched high and echoing in the hospital hallway, dripping with such bitter holier-than-thou certainty, it made Olli pause. It was clear to him that she believed, with unshakable conviction, that he wasn't what Christian needed. That she alone held the keys to the kingdom.

"Maybe he does." Olli said quietly, almost believing it himself. "But he'll figure it out one day Rebecca. And you _will _be sorry." He pulled completely out of Gregor's hold, straightening his rumpled collar and jacket. "He deserves the truth. "

She shook at Olli's words, lips tremulous and anxious, fingers cruel and trembling at her side. Olli braced himself, because he could read in the tensed lines of her body that Rebecca was poised to do something stupid. As though it wasn't enough that she'd been a siren singing lies and leaving Christian wrecked on the shores of his own grief, keeping him from Olli, who had been waiting. It was too surreal to think that he'd called this person friend.

"Rebecca." Gregor's voice was sharp and authoritative and it served to stem the tide of Rebecca's bile, snapping her out of her bewildered anger. "Why don't you have my driver take you home. Maybe it's best if you just aren't here right now, ok?" She blinked a few times, and nodded at Gregor. Olli felt an odd mix of fury and longing as Rebecca tore off her candy-striper's apron, turned and left without a word. She was probably heading toward Konnigsbrun, heading toward Christian and it made Olli ache all over again to know that there might not be anything he could do about it. That, again, he couldn't hold Christian through this hurt, to soothe away the worried lines in his brow and kiss the distracted pout from his lips. Rebecca had destroyed that for him, and he had been a weak and willing accomplice.

"Oliver?" Gregor's hands were gentle on his shoulders and he shrugged them off, turning slowly to face his ex's brother.

"Oliver," he repeated, "are you OK?"

And a crazed choked off sound of mirth bubbled out of Olli. Because the question was ridiculous, he was so far from OK, practically on the other side of the world from OK that he could hardly understand it himself. But he couldn't let Gregor see it. It was ridiculous, the whole situation was patently ridiculous but he didn't want another Mann to see him brought so low.

"Yeah, I- she- I don't know." Olli swallowed and rubbed at his eyes again. "I was upset."

"Oliver, come on, sit down. I don't know what the hell is going on but hopefully you can explain everything and you're going to do it right now, my friend."

Olli flinched, recognizing the steely cast of his eyes, the way the muscles in his jaw twitched and how his nostrils flared. Christian and his brother were different in so many ways, but in their anger they were like twins, silent and seething foreboding and never easily placated. Olli would've preferred to keep silence between them, to go back into himself where he could stay untouched and meditate alone on the sobering ugliness of his new life.

"Maybe you could start by explaining who's blood is all over my brother's hands and clothes? When he came back to Konigsbrun tonight I thought – I don't know what I thought. And he wouldn't say anything." Gregor was shifting next to him, and Olli tried to inch away from the anxiety coming off of Gregor in waves. He had enough of his own to deal with.

"Shit! Olli, look at me? What the hell is going on? Did he… are you hurt ?"

Olli finally turned to look at Gregor, got a good look for the first time, and realized that, for once, the anger wasn't for him. The tempered fury simmering under Gregor's pores was for Christian, and the razor thin edge of worry tightening his eyes was for him. This misguided chivalry, it made Olli's hands go cold with the utter wrongness of it and he heard, distantly, a wretched sobbing noise as guilt broke something else inside of him, another chip in the wall of his soul falling to the ground.

Gregor crowded him in an instant, murmuring soft sounds that gave him no comfort and pressing cool hands into his hot face to try and stop the last tear that Olli had left. He was graceless and ruined as he sank to the floor, succumbing to the unrelenting pull of his own misery.

"Oh God," Gregor whispered, pulling Olli into him and smoothing the short wiry hairs of his scalp. "Just like Papa, Jesus Christian, Jesus. How could you?" And oh, how Olli wanted, for a moment, just to stay like this, to wring himself out on Gregor's shoulder and let the pain seep out of him slowly, but Gregor still didn't understand. So he pushed off rocking back onto his heels prostrate like a supplicant at the gates of the Kingdom. And he confessed.

"It was Rob's blood. He beat Rob, not me."

"What?" Gregor's voice was thick with disbelief, but Olli continued.

"Because I cheated."

"You what?" Gregor asked softly, his hand tightening dangerously on Olli's shoulder.

Olli knew he had to look Gregor straight in the eye and say it again, confirm the ugliness of it, not just for Christian's brother, but also for himself, to lay claim to this awfulness take it inside himself and keep it away from everyone. He had done enough.

"I fucked him. I fucked Rob." Olli said it, again, though his voice wavered and his throat and teeth tried to close around the sound of it, trying to choke the words into inexistence. But there was nothing that would erase the act. Christian had made that startlingly clear and it was only fair that Gregor know it too.

"Jesus Olli, why?" Gregor asked, genuinely perplexed. "I thought, no Olli, I know you love my brother, I know it, I probably knew before the two of you did. So what happened? Because, trust me, I know this doesn't come out of nowhere."

But Gregor couldn't understand, couldn't know how all the little nothings in Olli's life could grow wild and out of proportion. A nothing decision to move back to Dusseldorf, blithely moving into the flatshare, carelessly inviting himself on that camping trip, and thoughtlessly opening himself to Rob's advances. No, it didn't come out of nowhere. It had come from him. It always came from him.

"Gregor, I honestly thought he wasn't coming back. I thought I'd lost him. I didn't know. I really didn't know."

They sat together on the floor, in silence, ignoring the nurses and doctors stepping around them, their grief an almost tangible division from the subdued rush of the hospital staff. Olli couldn't bring himself to look up at Gregor again. He was guilty, but he didn't want to feel Gregor's blistering judgment scorching him dry. He wanted to pretend for a moment that the hand on his shoulder was an empathetic one. It was out now, so they knew, they all knew.

"Shit. Christian." Gregor breathed sadly as his hand slid slowly from Olli's shoulder. Olli watched it fall. It made his throat and chest clench up with something dolorous and desperate, and he remembered suddenly his loneliness at sea of knowing that intrinsic him, to his being Olli , was being an island unto himself. Everything was reverting to its natural order, and to fight it would be as fruitless as the ocean fighting the inexorable pull of the moon or trying to defy gravity.

He understood, too, Gregor's grief, because they both knew, better than anyone what it cost Christian to trust. And Olli knew he was mourning that too, for barging his way into Christian's life and tearing off the locks that had kept the hope walled up behind his heart. The hope that he'd eventually entrusted to no one but Olli, and which Olli had destroyed with a few heated worthless moments. He was Humbert on the mountainside, alone and remorseful and late - simply too late. Someone was pulling him up, urging him to get up off the floor, and Olli complied, ignoring the twinge of protest in his knees and the throbbing pain in his head.

"Come on. Come here. I know you didn't mean it. I know you didn't." Gregor's scent was different from Christian's. all citrus and sweat, a thread of motor oil and fresh river water, and it was surrounding Olli, who was shocked from sorrow into silence by the offering of this absolution that they both knew his brother wouldn't give. So Olli took it, he clung to Gregor, who was less lithe than his brother but somehow just a little easier for Olli to hang on to, to let himself be lost just for a moment in the comforting strength of the wrong man.

When they sat down again, ages or eons later, Olli didn't feel like himself. He was doubtful he ever would again, but he was calm enough to tell Gregor everything, and it spilled out of him so fast, the tale waiting to be told and felt again in the telling. Though not so deep this time, not so raw as to plunge Olli into the icy tentacles of remorse that had brought him down so entirely. Because Olli had been wrong, Gregor did understand, he knew the story from both sides. He'd done it to Max, and in turn it had been done to him by Sarah, he'd had clients who'd paid him obscene amounts of money to lie with them and watch them rip their own souls out with acts of infidelity. Then paid him to stay while they confessed it all, weary and weeping on his call-boy shoulders.

Olli thought it criminal, that he should find solace here in the compassionate gaze of his boyfriend's – ex boyfriend's – brother, that he should find the greatest measure of peace he'd had in days, as they contemplated, together, in quiet, the obtrusiveness of absence.

"So now the bastard's saying it was a gay bashing?" Gregor asked finally, after the silence had protracted, weaving in and out of ease and unease. Olli nodded dolefully throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Can one gay guy even _be_ gay –bashed by another gay guy?" Gregor mused snorting in disgust as he stared at the OR where Rob was being patched up. "Anyway, I can give him a solid alibi to go along with what you told them. Thanks for that, Olli. He can't, I can't let him go back." Gregor's voice dipped low for a moment and it stripped him bare. Olli could tell he was tired, that he just wanted to go back to Louise, escape Dusseldorf and all the resultant drama once and for all. "It would be the end of him." Gregor continued, sullenly. "He's been through enough."

"I know." Olli answered. "I know." Gregor gave him a friendly, pitying, pat on the shoulder and got up to stretch his legs. "Why were you so upset when I went to Konnigsbrun?" Olli blurted out. Because it was too weird, sitting here and making plans with Gregor about corroborating false evidence, it didn't sit quite right with him, this strange partnership of love and obligation.

Gregor shrugged concentrating on the paint peeling off the wall, not quite meeting Olli's eyes. "You didn't seem sorry, then. You seemed kind of, arrogant? Self-righteous? I don't know. And Christian was a mess. But I should've known even then that you weren't like Sarah. You were actually sorry, you_ are _sorry." Gregor bowed his head focusing on his wedding ring, turning it in slow even circles. "I asked her that, you know, if she would do it again. If she even regretted it. And you know what she said to me, hmm? She looked me in the eye and said that she wished she'd done it sooner. That she'd wished she hadn't led me on like that."

His eyes, blue and intent, focused on Olli suddenly, like a laser full of cutting precision. "I know you're not like that. You're a good man, and I think Christian will remember that soon." Olli smiled with a bitter wretched twist of his lips. Gregor hadn't seen his brother, hadn't felt the finality of Christian's heavy steps, or the way his eyes had died, life flickering out of existence, a deadened star. But he nodded at Gregor, and made his way over to the nurse's station to ask about Rob and see how quickly he could leave this all behind.

He'd only just gotten there, when Miriam had come rushing into the ward, then her face flushed and panting as she approached Olli. "I know he never picks up his phone," she said, waving a dismissive hand toward Gregor, "but I've been calling you forever Olli."

He swallowed a little knot of guilt forming in his chest, his phone was probably somewhere in the hallway, forgotten in the chaos that Rob had delivered along with his return. Miriam had seen the ambulance when she'd stopped by to give Olli the till key that evening, and Olli hadn't had time for more than a sad and confused glance in her direction when he'd climbed into the back of the ambulance, ignoring the sweet sick coppery smell of Rob's blood on his clothes. No doubt she'd stayed covering Olli's overnight shift, and he was grateful, as always, for her steadfast support.

"Yeah, I don't have it with me. What's going on? Something with the whole-seller?" Olli ground the heel of his hand into his palm and looked past Miriam "Because I really can't deal with it today, maybe Gregor-"

"No Olli." Miriam answered, her eyes clear, blue, and swimming with fright.

"It's your uncle, and I think both you and Gregor really need to hear this. "


	10. The Sentence: Part 2

**The Sentence. **

The good news was that Lars had finally found a way to get Olli out of his contract with Lena and Rob. Though technically, he supposed that Christian implanting his fists into every available inch of Robert had done much the same. That was the good news. The rest of it was so bad, it had Olli feeling physically ill and struggling to catch his breath while his world disintegrated beneath his feet.

"He didn't want to explain it to me at first," Miriam said, glancing nervously between Gregor and Olli. "But when he told me it involved Lena, and that she was potentially dangerous, I made him. Because she and I, well, you know." She blushed and smoothed her hair out of her face while studying the ground. "He thinks she's a criminal," she continued. "Your Uncle got suspicious when he couldn't find her lawyer registered with the bar association. When he started asking around, it turned out the guy was under investigation in Hamburg, Bremen and Kiel for, God Olli all kinds of stuff. Money laundering, drug and sex trafficking," Miriam leaned in closer to the two men and whispered nervously, "murder."

"Wait a minute, Miriam," Gregor interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose," murder? And Lars thinks Lena is connected to all of this?"

Miriam nodded solemnly. "He thinks Lena is the one in charge of it all, and that probably," she looked at Olli

out of the corner of her eye before saying, almost too quietly to be heard, "probably Rob is heavily involved too."

Olli gave an incredulous and angry laugh. Of course, of course Robert was some kind of criminal, and Olli had invited him in had opened everything to him without a second thought. His business, his body, his relationship had all been thoroughly and utterly fucked by this man. Olli could hardly breathe around the rage swelling in his chest. He turned swiftly away from Miriam and Gregor and strode into the ward where they'd taken Rob. Both Miriam and Gregor tried to grab a hold of him to keep him from storming into the ward but he was too fast and too determined. He needed to know what was going on, once and for all, and they wouldn't stop him.

He plastered an apologetic look on his face as he approached the officers in front of Rob's room, swallowing the anger and barely managing to ask in a pleading voice. "Please, can I see my friend? I'm worried." People always underestimated Oliver, mistook his sweetness for weakness, thought him incapable of malice or harm. The cops were no different, waving him in with hardly a glance as they discussed Rob's statement amongst themselves. They didn't notice the way his fists shook, or how his eyes and lips were little more than angry lines across the white sheet of outrage that was his face as he crossed into the room and clicked it shut behind him.

Rob sat up quickly as Olli strode over to him, and tried to ease himself off the examining table and back against the wall, properly interpreting the twist of menace and loathing in Olli's features. But he was too late and when Olli's fingers bit into his arms to shove him roughly into the wall, Olli almost crowed with satisfaction at Rob's flinching gasp of surprise and protest. He clamped his hand over Rob's mouth and drank in his widened eyes and pinched panicked breathing with an almost perverse glee.

"You little drug dealing shit." He whispered harshly, desperate not to alert the cops standing right outside the door. "It wasn't enough to fuck with my life, but you had to fuck with my business? What did you guys want? Why couldn't you just leave us alone?" He didn't know when his tone had slipped into confused pleading, he just knew he didn't like it, so he clamped his hand harder down on Rob's mouth, his fingers digging painfully into the rough square of Rob's jaw. "You're lucky you're in this hospital because I don't know what I'd do if we were alone. I'm going to move my hand but if you make a sound, Christian will just seem like an amateur compared to me, understand?" Rob nodded mutely, his eyes shaky, unsteady and, Olli was inordinately pleased to note, truly fearful. Olli removed his hand slowly and backed away, waiting while Rob caught his composure.

"So." Rob said when he'd caught his breath, "What do you want to know?" He pulled away from the corner Olli had squeezed him into and wandered over to the counter with the tongue depressors and cotton swabs on the far counter, idly turning them in his hands pointedly trying to ignore the icy wall of disdain Olli had erected between them.

"All of it. Everything." Olli responded tersely, his skin crawling with disgust.

Rob turned around gesturing with a tongue depressor. "Ignorance, Olli. They say it's bliss, but really it's innocence. I'd really like you to keep that. You're so damned trusting it's kind of beautiful."

"What did you want from me Rob? What the hell were you and Lena planning to do?" Rob watched him for a moment, rolling a cotton ball between his thumb and forefinger, and Olli could see the indecision flickering in his face, he could almost hear his mind whirring to manufacture a fresh set of lies.

"Just tell me. You owe me that much." Olli's stomach roiled at the almost pleading tone he'd been forced to adopt. Rob held most of the cards, and Olli just wanted to know what the game was. He was met with more crackling silence, and just when he felt he'd exhausted most of his patience, that he was ready to face the assault charges for what he was going to do to this man, Rob walked back to the examination table, squared his shoulders and answered.

"At first we just wanted to use No Limits as a distribution point. I was supposed to reel you in, make you feel cozy plant the coke and make sure my guys knew where to find it, and then move on to the next place. Shouldn't have taken more than a month at the most. But I've worked with Lena for a long time, and she could tell I was interested in you. More than interested, and she likes to give me what I want. So she used her 'day job' to hook you - for me." Rob scratched at the paper covering the examination table, and looked away from Olli. "After that it was too easy to use No Limits, because I distracted you so much – because you wanted me." Rob smiled ruefully, still looking down, refusing to look Olli in the eye. "But she used that against me too. Got me to do things that I never would've have agreed to before, except she threatened to tell you everything."

"Things like what?" Olli's heart was drumming wildly in his chest, and part of him screamed that he didn't want to know the answer, that Rob had incriminated himself enough, but the words had sort of tumbled out of him without his being able to stop them.

"That guy, the one Lena made you throw a good-bye party for? I killed his wife. That's why he was going to Monaco, and that was the whole reason for the party. For him to have the perfect alibi." The quiet finality of it hit Olli like a bullet. Simple and deadly and the last of him was bleeding out. Is that what Rob had used, a bullet? Had he made love – fucked – had he fucked a murderer? Maybe Rob had held her down and choked the vitality of her, the way he'd held Olli down on his bed extinguishing an innocence with a merciless fuck. Murder was merciless, murder was repentant blue eyes and red hair sprinkled on pale skin, it was honesty – brutal and raw.

"I wanted to protect you, from her and from me." Rob inched his way closer to Olli, moving slowly, as though Olli were a skittish animal. "But I really couldn't stay away from you Olli. I didn't want to."

"You wanted to protect me," Olli answered, "By killing someone for her? By saying my boyfriend gay bashed you?"

"Oliver it's - " Olli staggered back from Rob's voice, always so smooth and velvet around his name, always so earnest, banging loudly against the door as Rob moved closer to him.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Olli shoved him hard then, sending him crashing into the exam table. He turned to go and fumbled at he knob for a moment, because his fingers wouldn't work, and he was shaking so badly stripped of his dexterity by anger and fear and the sensation of falling into a yawning bottomless pit. He wrenched the door open, finally, and backed slowly out of the room, desperate to keep his eye on the predator, desperate to Rob from seeing his fear. He was out of there so quickly, the bewildered police barely had time to wonder at his hurried escape.

He was out of the room, away from the oppressive guilt of Rob's confession, but he couldn't breathe. His head was swimming with murder and sex and loss and no Christian, no hope, no future - nothing. Gregor and Miriam approached him slowly, his flushed, strained expression, the confirmation of a gutted world.

"What did he say?" Gregor asked.

"He didn't deny anything." Olli answered. "Everything Miriam said, everything Lars found out. I think it's all true. Even the murder."

Miriam chewed her lip and shook her head doubtfully " He just spilled this out to you? But why? I mean he has to know that it's the end for him and Lena. I just can't believe he would tell you everything just like that. I can't believe I slept - oh God." Miriam hid her face in her hands turning away from Olli and Gregor to calm down.

"I think," Olli said slowly "that he's had enough. And I sort of understand that." And in some small way he was thankful for it. Because he had something to do now, a business to save and people to protect, he had purpose. He turned to Gregor. "I need you to go back to the bar, based on what he said, there may be drugs there and I don't want one of us not to be there when I call the police about them. I'm going to talk to the police guarding his room, and try to get them to keep him here." He put his hands on Miriam's shoulders, gently kneading, coaxing her to turn around. "Miriam, I need you to talk to my Uncle, tell him what we found out here, what we need to do to keep this from blowing up even more, Ok? Can you do that for me?"

"OK Boss." But she'd said it so miserably, so quiet, that Olli couldn't help but gather her into himself. They had both been slashed to the core by deceit and Olli prayed that Miriam would heal in time, because he knew that he was wrecked -utterly and totally so - and would be for, quite probably, the rest of his life.

After coordinating with Lars and ensuring the police would stay with Rob, Miriam had driven him home, if it could be called that anymore, because for the first time it felt like what he supposed it had always been. It was a collection of bricks furniture and knick-knacks, a place where he hadn't gotten any decent rest in weeks, a war zone with no hope of armistice.

The police had found the drugs in the women's restroom, hidden behind several false tiles near the sink, and even one beneath the floor. Olli almost marveled at the ingenuity of it, far more sophisticated than the penny ante operation he'd been involved in as a kid. He would have marveled if he hadn't have been so busy alternating quickly between the black pit of rage and the summit of hopelessness. The police had questioned him relentlessly, because the Dusseldorf polizei had a long memory, and they'd known Olli's own history as a pusher. This and the blood staining his clothes, the haunted scarecrow look that he couldn't quite wipe from his face; he knew it made him suspicious as hell, someone unreliable and not to be trusted. No, he didn't blame them for being thorough and after they'd questioned he Miriam and Gregor separately, they'd agreed to let him go upstairs and get clean. He didn't want to though, didn't want to pass the hallway where Rob's blood spattered the wood like a grisly Rorschach test. 'What do you see? What does it look like to you?' The experts would conjecture, but Olli would know.

But Miriam had pushed him up the stairs while Olli looked plaintively at Gregor, huddled in the back booth whispering into his cell phone, and Olli knew with a sharp pang of pained certainty that he was talking to Christian, explaining why he wasn't back yet. He knew it by the way Gregor's eyes would dart to him every few seconds, heavy with pity, enough for him and Christian both. In the end it was Gregor's diluted smile of harried sympathy that made him go upstairs. He didn't want reminders, of that he was sure, and he didn't want these charitable tokens of empathy either.

He passed the spot, refusing to turn his head, to make it even more real than it already was, and when he spotted his cell phone at the end of the corridor, he wasn't surprised to find several missed calls from his Uncle. He wondered at the absurdity of it, his phone, full of damning evidence in the very hands of the man who'd perpetrated the crime. It was funny. Except Olli didn't feel much like laughing. He sort of felt like he was underwater and he had to work doubly hard at keeping his limbs in concert, fumbling sluggishly for the key and walking dazedly into the flat.

The remainder of his flagging willpower, he marshaled into cleaning himself up, putting his (their? did it matter?) room in order. Twenty anesthetized steps from the bathroom to the bedroom, ten numb fingers putting the fitted sheet back on the bed; when he picked up Erwin to place back on Christian's box of memories he found Rob's shirt crumpled on the floor. Suddenly he was all hot venom and full of feeling as he ripped the shirt to shreds, a caged animal snarling and railing against the Sisyphus stone of his fate.

That was how Gregor found him eventually, seated in the middle of the room with the scraps of a red flannel shirt in his hand, staring morosely at the floor.

"Hey, uh, they're all finished up downstairs. I think it's going to be ok." Wrong, Olli thought, wrong wrong wrong. But he nodded silently at Gregor anyway and gathered the scraps of cloth to put in the waste bin.

Gregor sighed and shifted his weight awkwardly running a hand through his hair. "Olli, I need – that is Christian asked me if-"

"He asked about me? Is he-, does he want-" The sun bright flare of hope, not dead, still there, almost made him light-headed, woozy with possibility, but Gregor made that face again, the same overly pitiful wince and the apologetic curl of his lip that he'd given Olli downstairs.

"He asked me to pack up some of his things, clothes and stuff to bring to him. And he'd send movers for the rest."

Olli's 'oh' of dismay and understanding was soundless, and he saw Gregor cringe a bit at the look on his face. He could tell Gregor was close to offering a hug, but he didn't want to get drawn into the seemingly endless well of his compassion. So he pulled back into himself, crossed his arm at his chest and clutched absently at his neck, as though if his fingers dwelled there long enough, where Christian had marked him, it would be like holding his hand again. Olli knew then that he was probably crazy, or sick with grief. But he also knew, as he directed Gregor to Christian's luggage, and watched the space slowly de-evolve from home, that there was nothing left for him here.

He would be leaving Dusseldorf forever.


	11. Epilogue: Probation

**Epilogue: Probation**

It isn't so hard, in the end. Once you decided no one could convince you otherwise, once you made up your mind - it was as good as done. Andi had been disproportionately upset, but he understood. After all, he'd done the same thing, and you weren't even going that far.

You had to go, catching glimpses of blonde and the scent of grass -you'd have slowly gone crazy. Gregor hadn't said anything, but you could tell that he'd had enough of your moping whenever you'd call to update the weekly status, with the specter of Christian hovering cold and thick between you. You were tired of the false hope and it never took long for Gregor to tire of anything - and that included providing useless comfort to you. No, it wasn't so very hard after all, once you'd relinquished control of the bar to Gregor and Charlie, once you'd accepted that your ex couldn't even look at you, much less speak to you or stay in the same room as you.

Miriam and Luca take care of the day to day stuff at No Limits now. Her emails are coming fewer and far between, but you can tell she still misses you, and she calls you boss in the salutation line. It makes you smile a little, as few things do now. Gregor told you he'd be happy to have you pick things up where you left off when you come back, and you know Charlie has her hands full, she calls you every weekend just to see how you are, but she stopped asking when you were coming back a long time ago. It's good to know the offer stands. But you'd tell them all to shove their kindness and sympathy, you'd lose them all a thousand times over to get him back, to go back to he life you'd had together.

But you don't think of these things anymore. You don't, you can't, you won't.

When you walk down the Avenida the locals don't stare at you as much. Your nose hasn't been pale in forever, and you've bulked up enough that the gypsies think twice about picking your pocket. When Charlie visited you last, her surprise at seeing you was plain on her face, and you realize that somewhere along the way you've visibly changed, at least on the outside.

Your days are largely indistinguishable from one another. The sand is always white, the ocean and sky bluer than blue and the sameness of it, the dependability is good for you. You enjoyed working at Privilege for a little bit, reconnecting to your bartender roots, remembering how good it is to lose yourself in the monotony. Margarita here, martini there, mojito, caiprinha, your hands slicing the fruit, wiping down the bar avoiding eye contact or giving strained smiles to the ones who are more insistent. You didn't even mind the foam parties so much after a while, and the owner was a little too happy when you opted to come into work without a shirt all together, just to avoid the laundry bills. He was even happier when you pointed out that getting the strawberries from the pier might be a little more expensive, but would increase the quality of the drinks exponentially. And when you presented him with a foolproof plan for increasing tableside bottle service, he implements it the next night. It didn't take very long at all until you were managing the other servers, and having weekly meetings to go over expenses and personnel and everything. It took even less time for him to hand you the reigns to the sister club, Boon.

You love it. The more distraction the better, and you're busier than you could have ever dreamed of back home. It doesn't ever stop here, and you hardly have time to think because it's on to the next party or next event or next anything and everything. Most nights you don't even hope to make it home before eight in the morning. The only problem with that is that the sunrise over the ocean casts this brilliant shade of blue, and that color, it can break you if you look at it too long. It can make you so very lost.

"Amor meu ¿por qué estás rompiendo el cor, Schatz?" Julio talks to you in German, Catalan, and Spanish. Indiscriminate mixes of all three when he sucks your nipples into his mouth. He says "Hermoso, abre los ojos" when you're making love – no fucking, when you're fucking, when the sweat runs down his smooth tanned skin in rivers. You've given him a set of keys to your place, but it doesn't mean anything. Sometimes he's waiting for you in the morning after the long nights at work. When he pulls on your hair, long again, and calls you nadó, or bites at your still stubbled jaw, for a moment you can forget the ocean. You can lose yourself in the blackness of his eyes. Pushing into him and swallowing his sex noises with your lips and tongue, you know you should be happy.

You and he both know you're not. And he'll never have an answer as to why.

But the way his hips move as you fuck him, little crests and swells, and they're in his breath and his voice up and down and breaking around your name. Or, when you're feeling more generous, how his asshole always throbs when you lick long wet stripes into it, how he's always tight and hot around your fingers, and sometimes how he can be so quiet when you fuck him into the mattress, so quiet until the end when all he can say is some combination of "sí," or "ja" and your name in between his hot mewling little grunts. He prays to you like a good pagan, sacrificing himself to the altar of orgasm walking over the cliff into "Dios, Oliver sí, caro, por favor." And he just shakes and shakes under you hot and sweet. It always works, but only for the moment. When you roll off of him, sated and sticky, that's never as good as thinking about it is, because you want this worship from someone else. The sacrifice is never enough.

Julio always asks, in your sporadic mornings together, when are you going to let him inside. He kisses your neck, and you move away from that. He's not allowed to touch there, and he knows not to question the "c" you've tattooed at the base of your neck. He kisses way down your back, resting his head on the swell of your ass. "Let me in, Querido." You answer with silence, and you hope that Julio understands, that the answer will always be no.

But still he lets you enjoy, no, use him. And in your own small way you can love him for this because he doesn't press too much, and he doesn't really mind it too terribly that you never let him fuck you. You can't, he knows you can't. Sometimes he'll say you're breaking his heart but he smiles so impishly when he says it, and only gets a little serious when he crawls back up, folding himself into you to sleep.

This thing you have, It's not serious, it's only a little comforting, for the both of you because Julio has his own little universe of hurt, and you're just fellow travelers using the bed and each other's bodies as the vehicle.

You can hardly believe it's only been two years when you get the invitation from Judith. You almost don't recognize the woman in the picture. She is so confident and full of love, and, God, Constantin! He's cut his hair, they're not kids anymore, they're getting married in a month. You shouldn't go. It's too close, and you know, you just know they've invited him too.

Julio is sleeping soundly in your bed. Things are good here.

But the sun is coming up and you can see the ocean.

You purchase the ticket.


End file.
